


VICE & VIRTUE

by iamkathastrophe



Series: The Clockwork Age [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Lot of Plot, Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Angst, Bittersweet, Blood, Class Differences, Class System, Homophobia, Human!Castiel - Freeform, Human!Lucifer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Plot Twists, Really Slowburn, Slave!Dean, Slavery, Steampunk, child oc, human!Cain, human!Gabriel, past settings, slave!sam, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-05-15 00:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamkathastrophe/pseuds/iamkathastrophe
Summary: Castiel Novak always knew that his older brother kept secrets. He thought nothing would surprise him. He did not expect Gabriel to wander into a slave auction.





	1. i

Hi there :) make sure to see [this](https://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com/post/176851123562/these-took-a-while-but-here-they-are-6-icons-of) post to see what the characters look like in this story ;) 

* * *

 

“I still cannot believe that I agreed to go with you.”

 

It is the middle of the night; heavy clouds litter the night’s sky, covering the stars and the pale moon almost entirely, leaving only dimmed street lamps to illuminate the snow-covered streets with their weak, yellowish lights. As it usually happens at such a late hour, everything is almost completely quiet; the silence only spontaneously disrupted with the barking of stray dogs, or old vehicles driving through the streets riddled with holes.

 

The neighbourhood they are passing through is far from being even remotely considered a “good” one. Old tenement houses haven’t been restored in decades, most of them with their windows broken, others covered with pieces of cheap cardboard or dirty rags. The majority of the trash bins are either entirely full or knocked over, its disgusting contents spilling out onto the uneven pavement. Some of the bins are black with burnt remains at the bottom, no doubt once used to light up fires to provide some warmth for the homeless in the middle of the wintery nights.

 

This is certainly not a place for people like the two of them. Not with their tailored suits and expensive coats, not with polished boots and top hats on their heads, not with family rings on their fingers and thick wallets in their pockets.

 

They aren’t supposed to be here.

 

Gabriel turns his head and looks at his younger brother over his shoulder with a strangely bitter expression. Snowflakes gather on the brim of his top hat, forming a halo around him in the lantern’s lights.

 

“I didn’t ask you to come with me,” he grunts as he shifts his golden gaze back at the narrow road ahead of them. “You can still go back home, Cassie. The car isn’t that far from here, I’m sure you’ll find the way.”

 

Castiel allows himself to take a breath, one deep enough to stifle the irritation burning up inside of him. “We shouldn’t be here,” he states, for what feels like the thousandth time. This part of the city… it’s just not their place. Additionally, from what little information Castiel managed to squeeze out of his brother, where they are headed to isn’t their place either. His neck tingles as always when he just _knows_ that something bad is going to happen.

 

This night won’t end well.

 

“Cas, I’m going to say it once more and I won’t repeat myself,” Gabriel snaps at his little brother, annoyance prominent in his voice. “Go back home. This is not a good event to be a part of, so you could very well just go away.”

 

“Excuse me?” Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Neither is it for you!”

 

Gabriel barks a short, dry laugh, a single sound uncomfortably similar to dog’s raspy growling coming from one of the alleys. “You know I love you, but this is just bullshit. Alright? No matter how much I love you, you and I are not alike. At all.”

 

This statement shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Castiel knows that his brother doesn’t mean anything hurtful with it, that he is simply pointing out what is obvious because, yes, they really are as different as two brothers can be, and it applies to much more than just their appearances. Yet somehow, Gabriel’s word hurt, as if he just poked Castiel’s very heart, but that may be simply because Castiel has always looked up to his older brother, aspiring to one day become more like him.

 

This was just a cruel reminder that he didn’t succeed.

 

Castiel snaps out of his thoughts when he sees his brother’s arms raise up, and for a brief moment he thinks that Gabriel is about to swing at him with his cane; a beautiful piece of ebony with a golden dog head at the top. The absurd thought quickly disappears when the golden tip of the cane points at one of the shabby alleys, its end hidden in the shadow thrown by the buildings on each side of it.

 

“It’s here,” Gabriel says, his eyes darkening behind the lenses of his glasses. “You can still go back, Cassie. But once we get in, you will have to stay with me until the end, no matter what.”

 

“You know very well that I am not backing out now, nor am I leaving you alone in there,” Castiel scoffs in response, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tan coat.  He hopes that their attire is appropriate for the occasion; he’s not quite sure who or what he should expect in the place he and his brother are going to.

 

Together, they make their way to the back of an old building and stop in front of a pair of surprisingly well kept doors. Gabriel raises his cane and knocks, tapping some kind of rhythm Castiel doesn’t recognize but decides against asking about. This situation simply cannot get any more strange at this point.

 

There is a quiet clang as the lid of a viewfinder installed into the wood slides up, revealing a circular magnifying glass, a pale eye looking out at them. Gabriel takes his glove off and raises his hand up, showing off his family ring and nodding at Castiel to do the same. The younger of the Novak brothers follows the silent instruction, positioning his hand for the person on the other side of the door to clearly see the black stone with white “N” engraved into it, all of it sitting on a thick, silver band with family words engraved inside.

 

The lid falls shut, and mere seconds later, the door opens up wide with a long creak. There is a man standing on the other side, looking nothing like Castiel has imagined.

 

He expected to see someone from the middle class at best, more probably someone poor, wearing tattered clothes and worn-out shoes. The man looking at them with a sly smile on his thin lips could just as well be wealthier than both of the Novak bothers, given his expensive looking three-piece suit complemented by a red silky tie. Nearly as tall as Castiel himself, clean-shaven and reeking of perfumes, this man looks like someone who could afford servants to open the door for him and roll out a red carpet in front of his feet.

 

He looks dangerous.

 

“Ah, Gabriel Novak,” the man speaks up, a cold smile never leaving his old face. “I’m glad to see you. And you brought your brother along?”

 

“Let’s just say that he _really_ didn’t want to stay home,” Gabriel replies as he shakes hands with the stranger. “It seems like he wanted to see the auction, Zachariah.”

 

Zachariah turns his dead blue eyes at Castiel as he reaches out to greet him properly. “It is a pleasure to meet you nevertheless, Castiel. My name is Zachariah Fuller and I am hosting the servant auction tonight.”

 

“It is my pleasure,” Castiel replies briefly, lying bluntly. He would very gladly take Gabriel’s cane and use its heavy head to bash Zachariah’s head in, as it should be done with every servant auctioneer; _especially_ the one holding illegal auctions in the slums. God only knows where those so called servants come from, or what their history is.

 

This is why Castiel thinks that, at the very least, this is not a place for them; not with Gabriel's complicated past. They shouldn't be in this place, and if anyone here were to inform the authorities about this… _trip_ , both Castiel and Gabriel would find themselves in some serious troubles. However, as always when Gabriel gets one of his stupid and dangerous ideas, Castiel remains silent. He's at the point in his life where he knows better than to try to change his brother’s mind. Not only would it bring no effect, it would additionally enrage Gabriel.

 

So Castiel stay quiet. He doesn't speak a word when they step away from the cold night and into the heated hallway, decorated with deep-red wallpapers and golden lamps hanging from the ceiling. The interior looks rich and luxurious, a strange contrast from the poverty-stricken neighbourhood just outside the heavy door.

 

This isn't fair.

 

They follow Zachariah further into what seems to be a real mansion built into an old tenement house. They are led up wooden stairs into another corridor, their feet nearly drowning in plush carpets covering the polished floors. Through another set of heavy doors, they step into a small assembly hall, a stage built at the bottom of it and a buffet laid out at the top.

 

There are dozens of people buzzing around the tables set up with various dishes and tall crystal glasses of champagne. Everyone there is wearing expensive clothes and jewellery, family rings shining on the people’s fingers in the bright lights of electric chandeliers hanging high above their heads. Some of the people have already chosen their seats below, sitting and chatting casually while servants dressed up in the Fuller family’s colours deliver them more snacks and champagne if asked.

 

This is sickening.

 

“Come on, Cassie, let’s take a seat,” Gabriel says like he’s a frequent guest in these kind of parties, handing his hat and coat to the nearby servant, not even giving the poor girl a look. “I want to be close to the scene.”

 

“You must be kidding me!” Castiel half-whispers a hiss in his brother’s direction when they pass through some of the nobility and make their way down the stairs, Zachariah luring somewhere in the shadowed parts of the hall, speaking to someone from his staff as he takes the side stairs down, no doubt about to start. “There are dozens of people here! What if someone recognizes you?!”

 

Gabriel pulls Castiel into one of the soft seats, his grip tight. “This party is confidential,” he says lowly. “Zachariah has got some dirt on anyone in here, just in case someone was dumb enough to compromise him. Doctor Wisdom?” Gabriel looks over Castiel’s shoulder at a tall dark-skinned man sitting in his spot silently, dark eyes locked on the stage. “He does as much as breathes a word and suddenly every official in the government will know about him selling meds on the side. Lady Hannah? One wrong move and her husband finds out that his son isn’t really his. So just enjoy, Cassie!” The last sentence is loud and followed by a pat on Castiel’s back, Gabriel perfectly playing his role of a posh, egocentric nobleman.

 

That sly dog.

 

“Of course, brother mine,” Castiel mutters just as Zachariah steps up onto the stage, a little shining microphone tucked into the folds of his tie.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The man says loudly, everyone’s attention directing towards him. “I would like to officially greet you on the auction. It will begin shortly so, please, do take your seats and don’t hesitate to take as much food or champagne with you as you wish. My servants are here to make sure that your glasses are never empty. I just want to remind you that this party is completely confidential.” His dead reptile smile widens. “Although you will not be given a certificate or a receipt of the purchase, should you make one, I can one hundred percent assure you that all of our exhibits are young, healthy and strong.”

 

Castiel’s guts twist at those words. This thing that’s happening here is disgusting. Neither he, nor Gabriel, ever approved of the idea of owning servants. “Servants” is really just a sugar-coated name for a slave taken from one of the poor districts, or sold away by an abductor, or sometimes even their own family. Those people are stripped of their dignity, their name and anything else that makes them human, only to be given a metal collar around their neck and a chip implanted behind their ear in return. Most of the nobility doesn’t even consider them to be human, even though they still feel and dream and they have their own names and histories.

 

Sadly, most of those stories will never be heard.

 

Gabriel rests his hands on his cane as the lights around and above them slightly dim down, everyone’s eyes at the stage where Zachariah is still standing.

 

“And now!” he says with a wide gesture, stepping to the side when the curtain rises from one side. “I present to you our first exhibit.”

 

A young girl, eighteen at most, is led out of onto the scene, dressed only in a white, sleeveless shirt and knee-length fitting trousers, leaving just enough skin for the possible bidders to judge her health. This is already when Castiel just shuts off, his eyes wandering off to the walls as his ears are filled with, incomprehensible hum. He hates this place. He hates this place and everyone in it.

 

He doesn’t listen to Zachariah speak briefly of the girl, or to the bidding and pays no attention who wins. He just keeps his hands on his knees, clenched there as he forces himself to sit still and breathe steadily at the sickening sensation in his stomach.

 

Breathe in, breathe out. It will be over soon.

 

An hour passes by before Castiel is suddenly brought back into the present, Gabriel’s hand with the cane in it raising up high, his voice cutting through the cotton filling up Castiel’s ears.

 

“Seven!”

 

There is a tall boy standing on the scene, big hazel eyes wandering around the crowd fearfully. A boy is a good description for him, because despite his height, Castiel is not entirely sure whether that kid has even had his eighteenth birthday yet. His knees are visibly shaking and his hands are clenched into fists, brown hair curling on his head. That’s when it gets to Castiel.

 

Gabriel is bidding.

 

“What are you doing?!” Castiel asks Gabriel, his voice completely flat and emotionless, but Gabriel pays no attention to him, his eyes fixed on the boy with some sick spark in his golden eyes. Castiel saw this look before, most often when Gabriel was working on one of his inventions, but those sparks never meant anything good.

 

“We’ve got seven thousand!” Zachariah says loudly enough for anyone to hear. “Do we have seven-five?”

 

Someone else’s hand raises up.

 

“We’ve got seven-five!”

 

Castiel can almost hear the crack of Gabriel’s jaw when the older brother speaks up again. “Eight!”

 

“Eight thousand!” Zachariah repeats. “Do we have eight-five? No? Then sold, for eight thousand marks!”

 

There is nothing else Castiel can do but to stare at his brother with utter disbelief. However, before he can even speak a word or do as much as to smack Gabriel across his dumb face, there’s a loud bang coming from somewhere on the scene, along with a disrupted yelp.

 

“No!” Another green-eyed boy jolts onto the scene, his hands still bound with shackles, panic all over his pale face. “No! Leave my brother alone, you sick fucks!”

 

Just as he speaks those words, a servant in Zachariah’s colours rushes in after him, blood dripping from his nose. He looks just as scared as two of the boys in white, no doubt already expecting punishment from his master.

 

Zachariah’s features harden. “Excuse me for the technical difficulties,” he tells the audience with an apologetic smile, but as every other time, said smile doesn’t reach his pale eyes. He reaches into the pocket of his suit, pulling out a small bronze device with a circular disc on top, his thumb already sitting on it.

 

Something about the sight of this piece of metal must have triggered an awful memory at the back of Castiel’s head, because before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s already standing tall, his hand raised up high, the black stone shining on his finger.

 

“Stop!” He calls out to Zachariah. “I want him! And I want him _intact!_ ”

 

The muscle above Zachariah’s eyebrow twitches with barely kept-back rage. “I’m sorry, Mister Novak, but there shall be a licitation first. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the guests if they didn't’”

 

“Twenty thousand marks,” Castiel says loudly. “I'll give you twenty thousand marks, for the both of them.”

 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Gabriel hisses at him, trying to pull Castiel back onto his seat, but Castiel just shrugs his hand off, still looking up to Zachariah.

 

It’s too late. Zachariah already narrows his eyes, greed burning up in them. “Will someone give more?” he asks the audience, only to have utter silence to answer him. “Very well. Those two are sold for twenty thousand marks!

 

* * *

[here is a link to the picture I drew for this chapter :3 ](https://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com/post/174378364597/this-is-an-illustration-of-the-first-chapter-of)

Much thanks to my beloved betas, [KToon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KToon) and [Purpleologist ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleologist)


	2. i i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, peeps!  
> I've gotten *a lot* of positive feedback on the last chapter, so I've decided to treat you and post the second chapter today :) Just FYI, from now on, the chapters will be posted every Monday, so look out!

“What, in the hell, was that?!”

 

Gabriel’s enraged voice echoes through the empty alley, successfully chasing away bony rats feasting on whatever repulsive slush cushioning the ground might be. The auction ended some time ago, but even when all servants were sold away, the Novak brothers couldn’t leave right away without it being suspicious. They had to stay inside the stuffy hall, with the heavy smell of mixed perfumes and colognes permeating the air and voices of the nobility blurring into annoying white hum filling up their ears. As soon as the first guest left, Gabriel and Castiel grabbed their coats, bid their farewells to Zachariah and walked out, leaving the whole party behind.

 

Now that this is over, Castiel is left with an utter mess in his head and Gabriel’s wrath to deal with, none of which he is too keen on resolving. His guts are still twisted into tight knots and his stomach seems to be floating somewhere in his throat, threatening to return dinner at every careful move. It’s hard to breathe even now, in the night’s icy air, and it has very little to do with the terrible smell coating the slums. Castiel feels like his lungs are simply too small to catch enough oxygen at once, forcing him to breathe shallowly while cold sweat covers his forehead and neck.

 

That was a nightmare.

 

Fingers clenching on his shoulder snaps Castiel back to reality.

 

“Castiel Seraphim Novak, answer me when I talk to you!” Gabriel hisses at him, hand firmly holding Castiel in place. “What. Was. That?!”

 

“I could ask you the same,” Castiel finally manages to press through his throat, those words being the very first ones since he bid in the auction. It still feels unreal.

 

Gabriel doesn’t seem too happy with this response, his eyebrows drawing together, jaw clenching. “Oh, you don’t get to do that! And I hope for your own sake that you’ve got twenty-fucking-thousand marks stashed somewhere, or I swear to Gods!”

 

Castiel’s eyes narrow as he turns them to his brother, a spark of rage lightning up behind his eyes. “Twenty? You wanted to say twelve, didn’t you? As far as I remember, you spent eight thousand yourself.”

 

“Yeah,” Gabriel breathes out. “ _My_ eight thousand. The eight thousand I had saved for tonight, not the twelve thousand we need for food!”

 

Those words have such an impact on Castiel that the tiny flame of anger in his head is immediately put down. “You…” he stutters. “You… you’re mad at me… because I spent our money? Not the part where I actually purchased a human being with it, without previously consulting it with you?”

 

There’s this silence between them, the kind where it’s clear that at least one of them is hiding something and, this time, the person in question isn’t Castiel. Before Gabriel even opens his mouth and lets the answer flow out, he already knows that he’s not going to hear the truth, at least not tonight. He will either hear some kind of a white lie, or an excuse, some coloured story or maybe even nothing at all. Anything, but not the truth.

 

“Right, that too.” It’s painfully obvious that it’s not the case. “I mean…” Gabriel licks over his lips, letting out a long breath, a white cloud forming in the air. “I would be mad, really mad, if it wasn’t for your reasons behind it.”

 

“Gabriel, even _I_ don’t know what came over me!” Castiel huffs with frustration, taking his top hat off to run a hand through his hair. It is damp, soaked with sweat. He will need a bath.

 

The expression on Gabriel’s face changes, his features softening when they finally approach their vehicle, a beautiful beige Lincoln Castiel is more than proud of. “You don’t?” Gabriel’s eyebrow arches under the brim of his hat. “That shorter kid yelled ‘leave my brother alone’, Cassie.”

 

Suddenly a very painful memory Castiel was trying to repress flashes right before his eyes. He’s eight years old, barely a child in knee-length dress pants and a bowtie under his chin, when a pair of strong arms is wrapped around him tightly, someone pulling him back. Gabriel is across the room, a twelve-year-old boy with fierce golden eyes trying to escape some man’s grip, his hand reaching out for Castiel. “No!” Gabriel’s voice is strong and way, way too mature for a child his age. “Leave my brother alone! Don’t take him! I’m coming with him!”

 

Castiel’s keys jingle when he rapidly pulls them out of his pocket and shoves one of them into the keyhole of the driver’s door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, but he knows that there’s no conviction in his voice. If anything, he sounds weak, like he’s eight again. “I told you that we shouldn’t be here, so now we are twelve thousands short. Consider it punishment from the Gods.” With that, Castiel gets into the car. He can still hear the irritated sound Gabriel makes when he closes the door from his side.

 

It doesn’t take more than five seconds before Gabriel is already sitting in the passenger's seat, his cane tucked in between his legs as he takes his gloves off and rubs his hands vigorously. “Turn this damned thing on, I’m freezing,” he grunts at Castiel. “Damned weather, I don’t even remember what grass looks like anymore.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that there is grass in my greenhouse,” Castiel mutters with a hint of amusement, allowing the tiniest bit of joy into this gloomy night. He turns the engine on, the Lincoln waking up with a low grumble of the machinery hidden under its tan hood. “Gabriel, I think this is about the time we’ve talked about why you came to Zachariah’s auction in the first place.”

 

Silence. Again.

 

“Cas, I’m tired,” Gabriel groans as he rubs his face, his beard scratching against the rough palms of his hands. “And I still gotta stay up to wait for the shipment. We can talk about this tomorrow.

 

They won’t talk about it tomorrow.

 

“I think you owe me at least an explanation,” Castiel says bitterly when the tires of their car roll through the uneven road. “Why would you…?”

 

Gabriel’s cane knocks against the floor in a quick rhythm. “I don’t know, Cas, maybe I just thought that we need some help around the house. You’re locked away in your study most of the time and you hardly ever come out, I can’t manage the whole mansion alone.”

 

Castiel gives his brother five seconds to change his mind. He doesn’t. “Gabriel, if you have to lie to me, you could at least think of something slightly more believable than chores.” There’s no point in asking. “You don’t want to tell me, fine. But I do hope that you’ve got a slightly better explanation for Jay.”

 

The tapping stops.

 

“Don’t.” Gabriel’s voice is quiet and smooth, sharp at the edges like a blade. “Don’t you dare bring him into this.”

 

“How, exactly, do you expect me not to bring him into this? We live under the same roof. He's four, he's asking a lot of questions even without two strangers appearing in our house out of the blue. I'm not questioning your choices, because there is no point in that, but Jay is…”

 

The head of Gabriel's cane hits the glove box, the lid falling open from the force of the impact. “Stop it!” the older of the brothers exclaims. “Just stop it! Don't you fucking dare ever imply that I would do anything, _anything_ , that could possibly hurt him!”

 

That's enough to successfully shut Castiel up for the rest of their journey home. The atmosphere in the vehicle is unbearable, the tension nearly sparkling between the two brothers. Up until that moment, Castiel thought that nothing can make this night worse. Apparently, he was wrong.

 

Neither of them speaks another word even when they finally arrive at their mansion, standing alone off at the edge of the woods, away from the rush of the city. The Lincoln drives through a long, gravelly path and through a high,metal fence. Two crying angels watch it from the tops of the gate’s pillars as it finally stops in the middle of the snow-covered driveway. This night, Castiel feels way too tired to drive his car into the garage. He might regret it tomorrow, but for now, he doesn't care.

 

Together, the Novak brothers make their way up the stairs to the front door, already hearing whimpering and scratching from the other side. Castiel feels as some weight is raised away from his shoulders at the familiar sound. As soon as the door fall opens, two dogs rush outside to greet their owners.

 

“Hey, there,” Gabriel chuckles when a tiny Welsh corgi jumps up to rest his front paw on Gabriel's knees, barking with excitement while an old golden retriever pokes Castiel's thigh with her wet nose. “We're home.”

 

“Hello, Buttercup,” Castiel murmurs to the golden retriever, ruffling her golden fur. He raises his eyes up to the entrance hall, seeing light pouring out from the living room. “We're back!” he calls out in that direction.

 

The reaction takes only three seconds, then there's already a small boy running out of the main living room towards them, his arms raised up as he exclaims loudly “Daddy!”

 

Gabriel's face immediately brightens. “Jay-Jay!” he laughs as he grabs his son into his arms, spinning him around as the boy giggles happily.

 

It's late in the night and Junior should already be sleeping. Judging by his nightgown, he was trying to do so, but Castiel knows that the child can't sleep without Gabriel by his side. There will surely be no consequences for Junior for staying up late–Gabriel would never have the heart to punish his beloved son.

 

Castiel can't help but smile at the scene, those two completely focused on each other. The more Junior grows, the more he begins to resemble Gabriel. It's not apparent at the first glance, mostly due to Junior's dark skin and jet-black hair, however, the more one looks, the more similarities reveal themselves before the observer’s eyes. Junior's hair curls at the back of his head in the very same way Gabriel's does, his nose and ears have the same shape, let alone the shining golden eyes.

 

“Why aren't you asleep yet, you little rascal? Huh?” Gabriel asks his toddler, sitting Junior up in his arms.

 

“He refused to go to bed without you, sir,” a female voice answers this question. A red haired girl with a metal collar around her slim neck walks out of the living room with an apologetic smile on her face. “I'm sorry, sir. I really tried, but I couldn't force him.”

 

Gabriel sends her a smile. “It's not your fault, Charlie, I know how he can be.” He presses a kiss to his son's chubby cheek. “Thank you for taking care of him. Say my thanks to your Mistress. I'll come around sometime to praise you personally.”

 

Charlie bites her lip. “That isn't necessary, sir, but thank you.” She curtsies. “Should I put the little one to bed or…?”

 

“No, you can go back home,” Castiel tells her, although her _owner’s_ mansion can hardly be called a home. Charlie is the sweetest girl Castiel had the good fortune of meeting in his life, yet she's bound to spend her life serving an old, bitter widow. If only it wasn't for tonight's events, Castiel would have bought Charlie away from the widow and let her free.

 

If only.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Charlie says with another bow. She walks past them and puts on her coat. At least her owner gives her proper clothes for the weather–not everyone is that kind. “Goodnight, sir.”

 

Once Charlie is gone, Gabriel looks at his son again. The little hand resting on Gabriel's shoulder shines with bronze and steel instead of soft brown skin.

 

“How about we put you to bed now, huh?” He hums to his son, stroking his black hair gently. “Daddy's still got some things to do and you need to get your sleep.”

 

Junior pouts his mouth. “No good night story?”

 

Gabriel shakes his head. “No, I think it's already too late for that.

 

“You don’t sleep with me?”

 

“Of course he will,” Castiel steps in, resting a hand on his brother’s other shoulder. “I can take care of our business. You should go to sleep and get some rest. You both should.”

 

The gold of Gabriel's eyes shines with suspicion, but it's gone with a blink of an eye, nearly endless gratitude taking its place. “Thanks, Cassie,” the older brother sighs. “Downstairs bedrooms should be good. Now let's go, Jay-Jay. Say goodnight to your uncle.”

 

Junior grins, showing off his teeth. “Night, Uncle Cassie!”

 

Castiel stands alone in the darkened entrance hall, looking after his brother walk away to the stairs, Junior still in his arms and their two dogs following their steps with scratching of their claws against the hard, cold floor. It isn't until after he's completely alone when Castiel allows himself to exhale deeply, hands wandering into his hair as the true weight of what's happened tonight crashes onto him.

 

Oh, Gods.

 

Not only did he attend a slave auction and just watched idly when a person after person was sold away to a questionable faith–he also participated in this disgusting ordeal. Of course, Castiel very much isn't planning in treating those two boys like his property, but… what is he _actually_ going to do? What are _they_ going to do now? They've committed a crime, and Gabriel very much can't allow himself for another mistake in the government's eyes. Castiel doesn't want his entire future to be destroyed because of a moment of weakness, either. He…

 

A loud ring cuts through the dead silence of the night, causing Castiel's heart to jump up to his throat. His confused blue eyes wander to the source of the sound. His legs carry him to the main living room before his hazed brain has a chance to even comprehend what's happening.

 

“Hello?” Castiel's voice sounds choked when he grabs the shining, black receiver of the phone and presses it tightly against his ear. In the red glow of the burning fireplace, he can clearly see the face of the clock hanging on one of the walls. Twenty minutes past one in the night. Who would call at such an ungodly hour?

 

“Castiel?” The voice on the other side is rough, deep and very, very familiar.

 

Castiel's eyes grow wide.

 

“Lucifer?”

* * *

Much thanks to my beloved betas, [KToon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KToon) and [Purpleologist ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleologist)

 


	3. i i i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyhey, here's the next chapter :3 Just a friendly reminder that most likely, form now on I will be posting every Monday. Have fun! <3

The shipment arrives to the mansion well past two in the night. By that time, Castiel is already on his second glass of whiskey, but thanks to his Novak genes, it's not nearly enough to get him drunk, or even tipsy. There is no call or buzz of the ring announcing the arrival of the truck sent by Zachariah–it's only due to the front lights of the vehicle shining through the windows of the main living room that Castiel realizes it's the time to dress his coat and face the inevitable fate. He's trying not to think about the call, at least not for now. There is already enough on his plate.

 

He didn't know what to expect from such a “delivery", but any of his guesses didn't include having those two poor boys arriving at his house dressed in some thin, poor-quality coats and completely _drugged_. Zachariah’s workers assured Castiel that it's for the convenience and safety reasons–it's much easier to transport someone who's not even aware of their surroundings, and thus won't struggle.

 

This only made Castiel even more sick.

 

Obviously, he doesn't speak a word of protest. He just advices the servants to lead the boys into two spare bedrooms on the ground floor, putting each of them in a comfortable bed where they will have to wait for the sedative to wear off. According to Zachariah's staff, the dose they have gotten should be enough to keep them unconscious until the next morning, when they allegedly are supposed to be ready for work. Castiel very much doubts it. His insides cramp when he's given two, little teasing devices.

 

By the time the servants are gone, Castiel feels utterly exhausted. His pocket watch shows three in the morning when he carefully locks the doors leading to the new boys’ rooms. He doesn't want to treat them as slaves, but neither he nor Gabriel would want strangers to wander around their house when they are asleep.

 

And sleep is something Castiel really needs. He doesn't even take his shoes off when he falls into his bed, drifting off as soon as his head hits the pillow.

 

His blissful slumber doesn’t last long: when Gabriel shakes him awake next morning, Castiel feels like barely five minutes have passed since he dragged himself into his bedroom. His lids fall back shut almost immediately after he opens his eyes, struggling against the softness of the mattress clearly trying to pull him back into a deep sleep. As a Medicine student, Castiel is used to sleeping for about five hours–six if he’s lucky–a night. Tonight must have been much, much less.

 

“Cassie!” Gabriel says loudly as he pulls the covers off of his brother. “C’mon, get up!”

 

“What? What’s happening?” Castiel mumbles, rubbing his itching eyes. “What time is it?”

 

There’s an amused snort coming from Gabriel’s direction. “Six thirty. Jay-Jay won’t be up for another hour or two, and we got work to do. Chop-chop, rise and shine!”

 

With a pained groan, Castiel somehow manages to pull his aching body into a sitting position. He was never a morning person and sleeping about three hours surely doesn’t help with early rising either. Very much to his surprise, Gabriel–who tends to sleep in–is already dressed up in one of his loosely-fitting white shirts and dark-green dress pants, his hair is combed and it seems like he’s already taken a shower. But how did he manage to do that remains a mystery for Castiel, and one he’s unwilling to even attempt solving now.

 

He crawls out of his bed, trying to tame his wild bed-hair. “Can I at least get a coffee?” he pleads, doing his best to stay awake.

 

“Already got you one,” Gabriel replies, handing Castiel his favourite blue mug with steaming coffee inside. Black, just like he likes it. “So? How did it go yesterday?”

 

Castiel takes a sip. It tastes perfectly bitter-sweet. “What do you mean, how did it go? Those two weren’t even conscious when Zachariah’s staff brought them in. I told them to put the boys in the bedrooms near the kitchen, locked the door and went to sleep.”

 

Gabriel listens to all of it carefully, nodding his head with understanding. “Alright,” he finally exclaims, clapping his hands. “Time to go wake our princes up. Set up some rules, like not coming anywhere near my son and, for the Gods’ sake, not calling either of us ‘sir.’. I like it kinky, but c’mon.”

 

“I… am going to pretend that I didn’t hear that last part,” Castiel slowly raises up from his bed. His shirt and pants are crumpled and he really could use at least a quick shower, but with the excitement on Gabriel’s face, it doesn’t seem like it will be given. “Are you at least going to tell me why they are really here?”

 

There is silence, a sour expression and then a fake smile. “We gotta get to ‘em, Cas. I’ll talk to the tall one, you take his brother. Then we’re gonna grab breakfast together, _before_ Jay-Jay is up and we’ll all talk. Fine?”

 

This is the most Castiel is going to get and he knows it. “Fine.”

 

No more words are exchanged when they leave Castiel’s bedroom and quietly make their way downstairs, wary not to be too loud on the old creaking stairs. One sound and the dogs would rush out of Junior’s room, waking the toddler up. Already down on the ground floor, Castiel searches his pockets for the keys to the _servants’_ rooms, but instead of the keys, his fingertips hit the teasing devices. There’s an unpleasant shiver going down his spine when he takes them out, the bronze discs on tops of it shining grimly in the rays of the morning sun.

 

“Guess we should both take one, huh?” Gabriel reaches into Castiel’s hand. “Oi, don’t give me that look. You know I won’t use it unless I absolutely have to.”

 

“I know,” Castiel mutters quietly, sliding the other device back into his pocket and scooping out the keys, handing the right one to his brother. “It just doesn’t feel right. They are just as human as we are.”

 

Gabriel gives his brother a soft look. “I know that, Cassie. We’re not going to treat them like animals here, I doubt I have to tell you that. But the fact remains, they are strangers and I’m worried about Jay. We’re just going to talk to them and let them be as free here as one can, but these things,” he shakes the teaser. “They are staying with us, for precautions.”

 

Castiel nods, although deep down he knows that he wouldn’t be able to use those things. “Alright,” he just breathes out, feeling the tension of the muscles in his shoulders. “Let’s just be over with this already.” He puts his half-empty mug on the nearby decorative table and reaches to the doorknob of one of the bedrooms’ door, unlocking it slowly. “Good luck, Gabriel.”

 

The older brother just gives him an encouraging smile before disappearing in the other room. Castiel tries to ignore the rapid rhythm his heart is setting when he enters the room where one of the boys should still be asleep. The bedroom isn’t much; a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf, tall windows and a two-person bed, where the boy is shuffling in the covers, the sedative clearly already wearing off.

 

Before Castiel has even a chance to mentally prepare for this conversation, or find the right words, the boy is already blinking his eyes open, confused green gaze wandering around the ceiling, then down at the walls and the furniture, until, at last, they settle on Castiel. As soon as the realization seems to hit in, the boy nearly falls out of bed, crawling up to his feet. However, he doesn’t stand tall like servants usually do; there’s anger and hurt on his face, his voice dripping with sarcastic respect when he rasps out:

 

“Good morning, sir.”

 

It’s just a formal greeting, but Castiel feels like he just got slapped across the face. He has never done anything to this boy, yet he’s looking at him with so much hatred it nearly makes Castiel flinch. However, he doesn’t do that. Even though he’s going to treat those two like his equals, he very much can’t show how he feels about this whole ordeal, at least for Gabriel’s and Junior’s sake. Still, he’s not quite sure how he should speak to this boy.

 

“I…” Castiel licks his chapped lips. “What is your name?”

 

“It’s Dean, sir. Dean Winchester,” Dean replies with a hint of hesitation. Castiel knows more than one person that would already tease a servant for speaking in such a manner, but it only makes him more than happy that he’s decided to pay for this one and his brother.

 

Castiel raises his hand slightly. “My name is Castiel Novak,” he introduces himself. “And I don’t want you to address me as sir. Castiel is fine.”

 

Something between a surprise and utter confusion flashes through Dean’s handsome features. Now, that he’s standing, Castiel has a good chance to look at the servant more clearly. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and clearly strong. His dirty-blonde hair is all kinds of messed up after the sedated sleep, green eyes shining on a tanned face peppered with freckles. Castiel knows exactly for what purpose Dean would have been bought if he didn’t intervene.

 

Dean takes a second before speaking up again: “I… What? You’re my _master_ now, aren’t you? Why, the hell, wouldn’t I call you _sir_?”

 

“Because I’ve asked you not to,” Castiel utters. “And this… this situation is more complicated that you might think it is. I have no intention of putting you into slave labour, or put you to any kind of work without your consent. It’s…” He can feel a headache approaching. “It really is complicated.”

 

“Is this a test?” Dean shifts his weight from one foot to another. “You’re testing me, ain’t ya? And where’s Sam?”

 

“Sam?” Castiel repeats before he makes the simple connection. “Oh, do you mean your brother? He’s in the next room, talking to my older brother Gabriel. We… we want to establish a few things with you.”

 

Although Castiel knows that Dean has exactly zero reasons to trust him, he still doesn’t quite like the suspicious look on his face. “Yeah? What things? You own us now, don’t you?”

 

Castiel mutters bitterly. “Despite everything, I doubt I’d like all of it to be this simple.” His eyes land on Dean’s collar, or rather, at the redness underneath. “Uh, I’d like to take a look at you, if you don’t mind.” He makes a vague gesture towards his neck. “You seem hurt.”

 

“Can I see my brother after?” Dean presses out. “Can I see Sam? He okay?”

 

“Yes, he is,” Castiel assures, taking a step towards the servant. “Your brother is perfectly fine, and safe. No harm will come to you in our home. I know that my word doesn’t mean much to you, but I do promise that nothing will happen to you here.”

 

Slowly, very slowly Dean nods, allowing Castiel to walk closer, just enough so he can get a good look at the irritation of Dean’s skin. It seems like he’s been teased more than once before his arrival to the Novak mansion, but that’s nothing some cooling balm won’t help with. Castiel just has to remember to fetch a jar from his room once Gabriel is done with his “talk.”

 

Just as he thinks that, there’s knocking at the bedroom’s door. “You alright, kids?” Gabriel’s voice reaches their ears. “We’re done here, c’mon, let’s get grab a bite.”

 

Dean, clearly encouraged by Castiel’s previous statement, doesn’t hesitate for even a moment before he’s already opening the door wide and jumping out, wrapping his arms around the other boy.

 

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, holding his brother in a tight hug. “Oh, Gods, I was so worried! They, they drugged me with something! I just passed out, I thought I’d never see you again!”

 

Castiel slides out of the room, grabbing Gabriel’s arm in the process and pulling him aside, giving those two a little bit of privacy to properly process the emotions. Besides, there’s something Castiel has to tell his brother.

 

“Lucifer called.”

 

The satisfied smile doesn't disappear from Gabriel’s face. “What? When? What did he say?”

 

“Yesterday,” Castiel replies with a hushed voice. “Before the shipment. It was a two-minute call, but I think he’s in trouble.” He looks over at the two boys. “We’ll talk about this later.”

 

All the confidence and positivity Gabriel seemed to have in him just a moment ago are all gone from his eyes now, giving space to worry and downright fear. It is not that now the conversation they are about to have with Sam and Dean will have a completely different tone than it might have been if Castiel kept this information to himself. Gabriel can act. And Lucifer… Lucifer is their older brother, and it seems like he’s in danger.

 

Gabriel clears his throat, trying to get the boys’ attention. “Alright. Who's hungry? I think we've got some talking to do, and I'm starving.”

 

Sam pulls away from his brother reluctantly, but he doesn't move away from his just yet, clearly unable to believe that he really is still with Dean and that they weren't separated after the auction. “Uhm, I wouldn't mind, Mister Novak…”

 

“It's Gabriel,” the older of the Novaks corrects him immediately. “Please, I'm not even thirty yet, don't make me feel old.” He smiles, but it's far from an honest one. “C’mon, off to the kitchen we go.”

 

As Gabriel requested, Sam and Dean were placed in the bedrooms the closest to the kitchen, and thus it doesn't take them more than half a minute to get there. The Winchesters look around the room cautiously, as if they expected something completely different from pans and pots, or shelves stocked with various spices. Castiel cannot blame them, they both still must be scared.

 

“Alright,” Gabriel says loudly, clearly trying to put confidence into his voice as he swings the pantry doors open and peeks inside. “We gotta set up some rules for all of us, boys. You ain’t gonna be treated like a property here, but we could still use some help with managing the house. That’s why you’re even here.”

 

He’s lying. Castiel can tell it, he’s lying.

 

“This place is kinda big, I can’t do all the chores myself and manage my workshop at the same time.” Gabriel keeps talking as he puts several eggs on the kitchen counter, along with two onions. “So, yeah, this is pretty much all we ask for. Chores.”

 

The Winchester brothers blink.

 

Sam slowly opens his mouth. “You… you’re _asking_ us?”

 

“Yeah,” Gabriel confirms nonchalantly, grabbing one of the pans hanging from above the stove. “Listen, I know you’ve probably expected to live a horrible rest of your lives, but… not every nobleman is the same, alright?” He risks sending the boys a smile. “All my little brother and I want is to have help with managing our household. Besides that, you’re free to sleep in, eat whatever you want and walk around the property.”

 

“I want the zappers,” Dean suddenly says, his voice stern.

 

Gabriel turns towards him. “Excuse me?”

 

Dean straightens his back, his chin up, making the height difference between him and Gabriel more prominent. “I want the zappers,” he repeats. “If you ain’t gonna treat us like animals, I want the zappers.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” There’s sudden wave of anger painting on Dean’s face. “Why not?! You just said…!”

 

“I know what I said,” Gabriel cuts him off. He didn’t even raise his voice, but the mere tone and strength of it successfully quiets Dean down. “And I stand by it, but you are not getting the teasers. I don’t know you.” His eyes burn up in this strangely threatening way. “I don’t know either of you, so forgive me if I don’t give you enough trust to just be around my son. I will give them to you eventually, but for now...” He takes out the little bronze device and spins it between his fingers. “This is my guarantee that you won’t try anything.”

 

Sam’s look is strangely soft. “Your son?” he repeats.

 

Gabriel hides the teaser again. “Yeah, my boy. He’s four.”

 

Dean scoffs. “You really think we’d hurt a kid?!”

 

“Dean,” Sam glances over at his brother briefly. “We understand, and we’re fine with that. Just… thank you. You know, for… for not being like the rest.”

 

“No problem, kiddo.” Gabriel’s shoulders loosen up. “Alright, who’s hungry?”

* * *

Much thanks to my beloved betas, [KToon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KToon) and [Purpleologist ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleologist)

 


	4. i v

Gabriel doesn’t quite know how, but one way or another, he did manage to keep his face straight and his shoulders square during the entire conversation with the Winchester boys. He doesn’t feel too good about the fact that he lied to them, and to Castiel subsequently, but it is for the greater good. He wouldn’t want to cause panic among the rest, or explain himself now, when they are still all buzzing with the emotions of the previous night. If there is one thing Gabriel truly has to take care of now, it is to make everyone feel safe and at peace. He can get into the exact—and honest—reasons behind buying servants later, once he’s gained enough trust and everyone feels comfortable about their new situation.

 

He can do it.

 

By the time they are done preparing a big breakfast, the atmosphere has already settled down; probably mostly due to how hungry Sam and Dean seemed. Gods only know how long it has been since they have had a meal. The very moment Gabriel puts plates filled with scrambled eggs, bacon and toasts in front of them, it’s like the entire world has disappeared for those boys as they _devoured_ the food they have been given. It stings just to assume how they have been treated prior to their arrival at the mansion.

 

During the meal, Castiel shoots Gabriel a few looks, clearly trying to communicate that he knows that Gabriel wasn’t being _entirely_ honest about his motives, but, once again, now is not the time to think about it. Just yesterday his life seemed simple, but right now, Gabriel feels exhausted and like he’s about to break under the weight of the things he has brought onto himself. He just hopes that none of it will affect Junior in anyway; he would rather die than to expose the little boy to any more suffering than he’s already had to go through in his very short life.

 

Then there is also the case of the mysterious call from Lucifer. Gabriel doubts that there will be much Castiel can tell him, even when they find a moment when they aren’t occupied with all the things they have to take care of, but one thing he knows for certain—if Lucifer risked calling to the mansion, something must be _really_ wrong. Gabriel and Castiel haven’t seen their older brother in a few years, and although they did manage to maintain contact with each other, Lucifer still wasn’t supposed to come anywhere near the mansion or the city, under the threat of being caught. Gabriel worries that Lucifer will be stupid enough to come here with whatever trouble he has gotten himself into.

 

Everything is a mess.

 

“So,” Dean finally says, his mouth still full with bacon. “What’cha want us to do?”

 

Gabriel blinks a few times, trying to focus on here and now, not on the potential danger his brother is in or the project that’s waiting for him in the workshop. “Huh?”

 

Dean takes a big sip of tea from his mug to wash down the breakfast. “I’m asking what’cha want us to do around here? You said chores, but where we supposed to start?”

 

“Uhh…”

 

“I will show you around the mansion once you’re done eating,” Castiel comes to his brother’s aid. “You don’t have to clean everything, there are certain parts of the house I’d like to continue maintaining on my own, like my greenhouse or the library.”

 

“Yeah, and Jay-Jay’s room,” Gabriel adds.

 

Sam’s eyebrows draw together and he’s already opening his mouth to say something, when a small voice from the doorway interrupts them: “My room?”

 

Marshmallow and Buttercup pat into the kitchen, their paws scratching against the wooden floor, and immediately tap over to Sam and Dean, sniffing both of the boys curiously. The corgi gives a small bark when he jumps to his back paws, resting the front ones on Dean’s knee, clearly demanding cuddles. Right after them, Junior slowly steps into the kitchen, rubbing one of his eyes tiredly. He stops rapidly when he sees that his dad and uncle aren’t alone.

 

The toddler takes an unsure step back, clutching his plush dog to his chest. “Uhm…” he mumbles, curious golden eyes throwing shy glances at Sam and Dean.

 

Gabriel gives him an encouraging smile. “Jay-Jay!” he strums, his chest feeling fuzzy at the mere sight of his precious son. “What are you doing up so early?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Junior replies quietly, cautiously making his way over to his dad. Gabriel immediately sits the boy in his lap.  “You weren’t there.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. We’ve got guests, see?” Gabriel gestures at the Winchesters, completely ignoring their questioning looks. “This is Sam and Dean. They’re gonna spend some time with us, so be nice, alright?”

 

The little boy chews on his lip. “Okay,” he finally agrees, risking another glance in the boys’ direction. Then he tilts his dark-haired head to the side, a gesture associated with the Novak family so much it almost hurts. “You look like my puppy,” Junior finally states with completely disarming, childish honesty, extending his prosthetic arm towards Sam, showing him a plush dog with shaggy brown fur.

 

Sam looks at the toy for a moment with wide hazel eyes before, finally, he breaks and laughs, dimples appearing in his cheeks.”You’re right buddy, I really do,” he chuckles, slowly taking the plushie out of Junior’s mechanical arm. “We’ve got the same hair.”

 

“Yup!” Junior confirms happily, tapping his little hands against the table in a vigorous rhythm. “Daddy, I’m hungry,” he announces, wiggling on Gabriel’s lap.

 

“I’m on it,” Castiel tells his nephew, already getting off his chair, collecting dirty dishes from the table. “It will only take a moment, then I will show you around,” he adds, directing his words to the Winchesters.

 

Gabriel sends his brother a thankful smile and leans back in his chair, keeping his son securely in his grip. It seems like Junior’s characteristic shyness has faded away in a matter of moments, the toddler already babbling about something to their “guests”. This is must be the best possible outcome of their situation—everyone just agreeing to the terms given without any major objections, and Junior being rather content about having more people he can talk to.

 

Perhaps this will turn out just fine.

 

The rest of the day plays out surprisingly _normal_. After they finished breakfast, Gabriel takes care of his son while Castiel takes Sam and Dean on a trip around the house, showing them all the rooms, explaining what should be done and where they can find everything they could need. According to Castiel, Sam listened closely, nodding and thanking him for everything at every possibility, while Dean remained mostly silent. That attitude changed as soon as Castiel mentioned the unlimited access to food and, as it turned out, the older of the Winchester boys was more than eager to take care of the cooking in the house.

 

They ate lunch separately, very much to Junior's displeasure, but Gabriel wasn’t really surprised at that. There still must have been a lot of things Sam and Dean had to discuss with each other, and the situation is overwhelming for all of them. They needed some time alone, and Gabriel could respect that, even if he didn't exactly like it. Just because he can understand the motives behind it doesn't mean he's too fond of the idea of those two being unsupervised.

 

Once the lunch is over, Castiel and Gabriel do what they do everyday—they switch with taking care of Junior. Castiel takes the little boy to the library to look after him while they both do their studies, Junior’s consisting mostly of trying to write and draw, while Gabriel is off to work. Thankfully for him, his job allows him to stay home nearly every day at all times, his workshop standing at the back of the mansion, connected to the main building via a short, narrow corridor.

 

The workshop is Gabriel’s own little kingdom. He can go there whenever he needs time alone, and focus on the machinery rather than on people and emotions—he can just completely lose himself in the magic of cogs and springs and screws, turning loose pieces of metal, parts and cables into arms, legs and fingers. Despite his previous rather unpleasant experiences with the government, as well as being stigmatized in the eyes of the society and nearly disowned by his family, there was never such a thing as no work for Gabriel. People lost their limbs due to sickness, in the combat or were just born incomplete, and everyone knows that Gabriel Angello Novak makes the best prosthetic limbs and performs the surgeries best of every prosthesis engineer in the country.

 

His work is truly a strange contrast to his personality—Gabriel was told on more than one occasion how energetic and lively he appears to be, his mere presence taking a lot of space in any room he chooses to be in, gaining attention of everyone at every given social event. It seems like he wouldn’t be good at something that requires a lot of focus, precision and patience. It turned out to be the exact opposite—prosthesis engineering grew to be Gabriel’s way of managing all of his energy and calming down. While working, he rarely can think about anything else than building up and connecting parts of the commissioned limb and that’s exactly what he needs in his messed up life. It's not like his only reason anyway.

 

Gabriel spends a few good hours in his workshop, working on his most recent commission—a leg for a teenage dancer—while the sun quickly makes its way through the steel-grey winter sky and the whiskey from the bottle standing on one of the worktables gradually disappears. He might be twelve thousand marks poorer, but that doesn't mean that Gabriel is going to say no to all his little pleasures. He has more than enough work, he can allow himself to get a drink.

 

He's just busying himself with adjusting a cog in what is going to be the knee of the prosthetic leg when there's suddenly knocking at the door. Gabriel's hands stop, his eyebrows scrunching as he looks towards the source of the sound with surprise. He and Castiel have only two rules in this mansion: absolutely no being nasty in the kitchen and never coming to the workshop whole Gabriel is working, unless there's a fire or—Gods forbid—something has happened to Junior.

 

“Yeah?” Gabriel calls out, sliding his glasses up on his nose, smearing grease over his face in the process.

 

The door slowly creaks open and a slightly pale, brown-haired head peeks in. “Uhm, hello,” Sam greets him unsurely. “I, uh, I thought you might want to have some tea, Mister… I mean, Gabriel.”

 

For a few seconds, Gabriel just looks at Sam, blinking. He doesn’t like the fact that the kid has just disrupted the privacy and sanctity of the workshop but, God, does Gabriel have a soft spot for cute boys and girls. And Sam is definitely a cute one.

 

“Ain’t that sweet of ya?” Gabriel chuckles, gesturing at the Winchester boy to come in. “Just close the door, it can get really cold in here.”

 

Sam gives him a faint smile before stepping inside with a tray in his hand, closing the door behind him. The sleeves of his white coat are darkened, no doubt meaning that he has already done some chores around the house, and hopefully, so did his brother. Perhaps doing the chores wasn’t the _real_ reason as to why Gabriel bought servants in the first place, but it surely is a good start and a nice bonus. The mansion is really big, and with the additional twelve thousand marks Castiel so recklessly spent, they can’t afford hiring house cleaning anymore. The more help they will have now the better.

 

The tray lands on the worktable in a safe distance from the mechanical knee Gabriel was building. Besides a teapot and two teacups there’s also a sugar bowl, a few slices of lemon, a tiny jar with honey and one with milk, as well as a plate with the biscuits that are always stashed in a metal box in the kitchen, tucked in such a place that Junior could always reach it in case he wanted a quick snack.

 

“That’s an entire tea party right here,” Gabriel jokes, tugging slightly at his shirt stained here and there with a bit of oil. “I feel underdressed for the occasion. Speaking of which, we’re going to have to get you some clothes soon enough.”

 

“Oh, you don’t have to bother, really,” Sam says right away, as if he was expecting this. Of course he was, it’s pretty obvious. “You’ve already given us so much, I couldn’t—”

 

Gabriel cuts him off, pouring tea into the teacups. “We gotta, even if you don’t like it. Your brother is about the same height and posture as Cassie, so there’s not going to be any problem with that. You, on the other hand,” he points his spoon at Sam. “You’re freakishly tall so we need to get you some proper clothes. If anyone comes around with a visit, I doubt there’s gonna be a way for me to explain why it is exactly what you’re wearing some rags.”

 

That blunt statement shuts Sam up for at least ten good seconds. The kid appears to be somewhat intimidated by Gabriel, which is ridiculous given their height and posture differences. “I understand,” he finally says, slowly reaching for his cup. “Sorry. It’s just… this isn’t exactly what I was expecting when I knew I was going to be sold.”

 

“And nine times out of ten, it ain’t,” Gabriel admits, taking a screwdriver into his hand and focusing back on the knee. “I don’t think that this servant system is a smart idea anyway, but who am I to judge? I’m just an engineer,” he scoffs.

 

“Can you…” Gabriel can tell that Sam is choosing his words very carefully. “Could you let us go, then? If you disagree with the idea, could you just let me and Dean go?”

 

The screwdriver stops. Gabriel rubs his tired eyes before turning them back at the Winchester boy, his hair shagged up adorably. “You really don’t know how this thing works, don’t you?” he asks, pointing at the collar clasped around Sam’s neck.

 

Sam’s fingers travelling up to touch the cold metal only confirms Gabriel suspicions—the kid doesn’t have the finest idea. “You…can’t just take it off, can you?”

 

Smart boy.

 

“I can't, even if I really wanted to,” Gabriel admits bitterly. “This thing behind your ear?” He taps his own neck. “The chip is the core of the whole goddamned problem. It's not just an identification system, it's also a tracking device and the main control centre of the shock system. The collar is what teases you but the chip triggers it.” He takes out the teaser out of his pocket and shows it to Sam, pointing at a small button at the base of it. “This is what would activate all the power the collar has and and fry your brain up. This is also exactly what would happen if I tried to remove the collar or let you go. Someone sees a servant without a master, and zap.”

 

“Can't you remove the chip then?” There's desperation ringing in Sam's voice.

 

Gabriel scoffs. “If only I knew how they work.”

 

“You just said—”

 

“I just said what I know they can do,” Gabriel clears out, reaching for a biscuit. “But how they work, how they're connected or implanted? That knowledge ain't a luxury I have.”

 

Sam stays quiet after that, clearly pondering over what he's just heard.

 

“Sorry, kiddo,” Gabriel tells him, but is he really? He definitely should feel sorry for the kid but he can't not see the benefits he has from this situation, with all the help the household will have from the two Winchesters being here.

 

His life has been a shitshow and he's going to be in debt now, he deserves to be content over something helping his everyday struggles.

 

“It's fine,” Sam finally breathes out, but he doesn't sound fine. “This… this here is much, much better than anything I could hope for and certainly better than what I've expected. So, thank you for that.”

 

Gabriel's glasses shimmer in the harsh lights shining at them from above the workable. “You're welcome, Sammy.”

 

If only he knew.

* * *

Much thanks to my beloved betas, [KToon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KToon) and [Purpleologist ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleologist)


	5. v

The days flew by like snowflakes on harsh wind, and with each one, the residents of the Novak mansion became more and more adjusted to the odd situation they got themselves into. Somehow, they worked out a daily schedule and a rhythm without as much as discussing it—at moments it even felt like Sam and Dean have been helping around the mansion forever, with how naturally they took on some roles and how well they fit in the mansion. As much as Gabriel was stressing over needing to supervise the Winchester boys, it turns out to be completely unnecessary—they followed all the rules that were set up for them without a blink of an eye. To Castiel's surprise, Dean didn't complain about anything, and he seemed to he the hot-headed one with a sharp temper.  Even if either of the Winchesters was to question the rules or ask to change some of them, Castiel would have nothing against it. With how much easier the life has gotten since those two began helping around, Castiel would gladly do a lot for them. 

 

Due to how much paying for them costed, the Novaks can't afford many luxuries they were used to before, such as hiring house cleaning or maintenance service, but that turned out to be a pointless worry, since whatever needed cleaning or repairing, Sam and Dean were here to get it done. The only real expense that awaited them was getting Sam some proper clothes and shoes and besides that, there was just enough money for food and bills. Though Gabriel's workshop lacked a few more expensive, such as sedatives, he didn't seem too bothered by it. When asked, he just told Castiel that, should any of his clients want any of the things he didn't want, he would just ask them to pay for it. Plain and simple.

 

Castiel enjoys seeing more life at his house, however, Junior seems to be the one who likes their new living conditions the most. He appears to have taken a special liking in Sam, constantly asking for the boy when he's supposed to study, or babble to Sam while he's trying to do his chores. The Winchester boy doesn't seem to be bothered by that too much—he often stops his work to pay attention to Junior for a moment, listen to the toddler's stories told in an excited voice. As much as it's good for a child’s development to have a variety of people to interact with, Gabriel doesn't seem too happy about the fondness his son has developed towards Sam.

 

That only makes Castiel's suspicions arise, although he keeps all of them to himself. He knows his brother enough to know that Gabriel won't reveal any of his secrets until he's absolutely forced to, or when he's caught in the act. He didn't even tell Castiel that he was going to have Junior until it was no longer possible to hide it from him. During his everyday life filled with studying for the upcoming exams at the university he attends, as well as the housework left for him and the greenhouse he keeps for his studies, Castiel doesn't have too much time to think of Gabriel's secrets. It changes rapidly when the work day is over, Junior is asleep, Gabriel is in his workshop and Castiel, now without anything better to do, is left alone with his thoughts. 

 

He was avoiding processing the changes and the consequences of the Winchesters’ stay at the mansion for a week but now, when the fire is flickering and crackling in the fireplace and its flames are glimmering in the crystal of Castiel’s glass filled with amber whiskey, there’s nothing left to do but think, and the stinging pain in his shoulder from an old injury doesn’t help the situation either. He thinks about Gabriel’s recently abolished punishment, about the government’s watchful eyes prying at them whenever they leave the safety of the mansion, about the money Castiel so carelessly threw out, about the possible consequences of it, should anyone find out, about what kind of impact will it have on his nephew, about…

 

“That whiskey?”

 

Startled, Castiel jerks on his spot on the couch, getting some of the alcohol onto his sleeve. He looks behind himself rapidly, only to see Dean in the doorway. The servant is wearing some of Castiel’s clothes—a dark-red shirt and black pants supported by white suspenders, his dirty-blonde hair neatly combed. He looks very good.

 

“Uh,” Castiel stutters, trying to recall Dean’s words. “Yes. Yes, it’s whiskey. Would you like some?”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dean nods with a small smile at the very corner of his lips, walking around the couch and settling down at the opposite end of it. He waits patiently until Castiel pours him a glass. “Thanks.” He sniffs the alcohol. “Dear Gods, this smells nice. Like the good stuff.”

 

Castiel gives him a questioning look. “The good stuff?”

 

Dean takes a sip, making a soft satisfied sound. “Oh, yeah, the good stuff.” He drinks again. “You know, the kind someone like me wouldn’t be able to afford.”

 

“Ah, I understand. But, frankly, neither could we.” Castiel taps the carafe. “It was a gift from one of Gabriel’s clients.”

 

“Man, you’re making it sound like he’s a hooker.”

 

Despite his best attempts, Castiel simply cannot stifle the short laugh that forces its way from between his lips. “I suppose you’re right, it was a rather poor choice of words, my apologies.” He shifts in his place a little, pain radiating from his shoulder. He should get back to his room soon and rub some warming balm into the aching flesh before he goes into bed—otherwise he won’t be able to tend his greenhouse tomorrow. “One of the noblemen from the city, sir Joshua Brown, commissioned a prosthetic arm for his daughter after the purple fever took it. It was so well made that his daughter had no troubles with pursuing her artistic career, and sir Brown was so delighted that he paid twice the price and gifted us with a few bottles of whisky.”

 

There’s a short pause when Dean drinks the rest of his alcohol. “That sounds like a bit of an overkill, huh? Not that I’m complaining, it’s really,  _ really _ good.”

 

“You can take as much as you want,” Castiel tells him, offering to refill Dean’s glass. “If the carafe is empty, there should be more in the bar over there.”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Castiel blinks. “Excuse me?”

 

Clouds gather over Dean’s expression, his eyes darkening and the cocky smirk disappearing. “Why are you doing all of this? Giving me your clothes, buying new for Sammy, letting us sleep in and eat whatever we want? And for what, some cleaning and cooking?” He hooks a finger behind his collar. “We’re both at your mercy, literally. You could have us sleep in the backyard and work all day on no food.”

 

The pain intensifies. Castiel carefully rolls his shoulder, doing his best not to grimace. “And what, exactly, would be the point of that? You and your brother are people, and as such, you deserve at least some basic respect.”

 

Dean snorts. “Most folks like you would beg to differ.”

 

“I suppose I was just raised differently. Ugh…” Castiel inhales sharply at the stinging in his shoulder. That's it, he's not going to be able to bear it any longer. He has to go to his room.

 

“Cas?” Castiel almost flinches at the unfamiliar nickname. “You okay?” 

 

He hisses. “I'm fine,” he lies. “It's just… my shoulder hurts.”

 

“You sure? Should I get Gabriel?” 

 

“No, no!” Castiel shakes his head rapidly. “I'm fine, really.” He sets his glass aside and raises up from the couch, one of his hands wandering over his shoulder to press at the aching spot on his shoulder blade. “It's just… an old injury.” 

 

The servant doesn't seem convinced—if anything, he looks amused. “An old injury? Man, you talk like some old-ass war veteran.” 

 

It takes a lot of Castiel's self-control in order not to roll his eyes at that. “Actually, I just so happen to be a veteran,” he grunts. “I was deployed, I was on a war.”  _ I killed people _ , he adds in his mind. 

 

“You?” Dean repeats in disbelief, his eyebrows travelling up his perfect forehead. “You been fighting? Really?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel admits somewhat bitterly. “Every noble family has to send at least one son to the army. Never the eldest, though, so the bloodline doesn’t run dry. Then my second oldest brother was… well, he was disowned. Third was adopted, so he doesn’t count in this system, Gabriel’s eyesight is way too bad to make him a proper soldier, then Balthazar was sent out of the country many years ago… I was the only one left. So when I finished schooling at nineteen, I went to the army. I spent three months in the field before I was shot from behind and deemed unable to continue service. So, yes, Dean—I do have an old injury.”

 

Dean looks up at him silently for a moment, mixed emotions flashing through his impossibly green eyes. “I… sorry, buddy. I just…” he exhales. “I didn’t wanna be an ass, okay? You just seem ‘bout my age, which ain’t exactly fitting an image of a combatant… My dad was in the army.” He clears his throat. “Twice.” 

 

“That’s…”

 

“Stupid,” Dean cuts Castiel off. “Old bastard never came home, we only got his boots and dog tags back. He went again so I wouldn’t have to. You know, so I could take care of Sammy. Guess I did a pretty shitty job at that, huh?”

 

Castiel’s expression softens, the pain slowly dulling down. “Given the current situation? I think you did much more than a lot of siblings would have. Just the fact that you barged onto the scene during that auction… that was brave. More than.”

 

“I… guess. Thanks, Cas.”

 

“You’re quite welcome.”

 

Gabriel is stressed. Well, frankly, he’s more than stressed—he’s borderline going insane and it is only by some sort of miracle that he didn’t grab his wallet, coat and cane and just left the mansion for a day or two. It wouldn’t be anything new or extraordinary—he used to randomly disappear from home for a few days on quite a regular basis, even after Junior was already born. Perhaps it was some sort of escapism, but Gabriel didn’t like to think about it this way. Sometimes he just needed to blow some of the steam off, forget all of his responsibilities as a nobleman, brother, father, engineer and a Novak. He would just take his car and drive a few cities over, spend some time drinking in bars or sitting in brothels before, reluctantly, heading back home.

 

Now there’s no such way out of the shitshow that’s happening in his mansion. He can’t just head out for the weekend and not come back until Monday, and there’s several reasons for that. One: he simply doesn’t have the money. Even after receiving the payment for the prosthetic leg he built and the monthly share out of the main Novak vault, once all of the costs of food, parts and Castiel’s tuition money have been subtracted, there simply isn’t enough left for Gabriel to just spend on booze and hookers. Two: there are two boys that are basically strangers to him, living under his roof and, consequently, being around Junior. No matter how sweet and gentle Sammy seems to be, and how careful he is around the toddler, Gabriel still isn’t too happy to see his son growing so attached to the servant, especially with what is inevitably to come. Three: Castiel spends way too much time with Dean lately.

 

Even though this is very much not Gabriel’s business—especially not given how often he sleeps around—he can’t help but to keep an eye on his little brother. Castiel likes boys better? Fine, no problem, it’s not like Gabriel is too picky himself, but Dean… There is something about him that Gabriel just doesn’t like, something that makes him an unsuitable partner for a secret relationship, should something like this ever occur. Castiel is about just as good with human interactions as Gabriel is with not drinking—the guy probably wouldn’t notice someone flirting with him even if they held a big sign. Then again, maybe Gabriel is just over analyzing all of it and his brother has just found a friend—he’s never had too many of those and he could surely use a few of those. Castiel has always been shy, but he’s closed himself in even more after he came home from war with a massacred shoulder. 

 

All of this swirls inside Gabriel’s head like the smoke travelling up the chimney in front of him as he keeps an eye on Junior playing with his clockwork toys on the carpet in front of the fireplace, Buttercup and Marshmallow sleeping nearby. Castiel and Dean are sitting by the nearby table with some papers in front of him, Dean most likely asking Castiel questions as a revision for his upcoming anatomy exam, while Sammy is reading a book in one of the armchairs, looking up to Junior from time to time. It would be almost blissfully domestic if it wasn’t for the stress eating Gabriel out from the inside.

 

Finally, his eyes land on the clock on the wall. Half past eight. It’s time.

 

“C’mon, Jay-Jay,” he hums to his son, getting up from the couch. “It’s time for bed.”

 

“Nooo!” The toddler whines, his big golden eyes shining. “Daddy, please! Ten minutes!”

 

Gabriel shakes his head. He hates saying no to his boy, but sometimes he has to—especially when he still has work to do. Blueprints for his newest commision won’t just magically draw themselves out. “No way, kiddo. You gotta get up tomorrow and get your studying done. You wanna be prepared before you get a teacher, don’t you?”

 

Junior pouts his mouth. “Can Sammy read me a story?”

 

“No,” comes a stern reply. Gabriel doesn’t want his son to get even more attached. “Sammy has his own things to do now.”

 

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Sammy cuts in shyly. “I’d love to spend some more time with Jay.”

 

Oh, no, sir. “Maybe some other time. He really needs to go to bed now, he’s four.” Gabriel squats down and grabs his son in a hug, elevating him up into the air, causing the boy  to squeal with delight. “My boy needs to get his sleep so he can grow up big and strong!”

 

The little boy just giggles in his father’s arms when he waves his little prosthetic hand at everyone in the room, wishing them a good night with his small voice. Just as Gabriel expected, as soon as they leave the living room, Junior’s head rests against his shoulder, the toddler yawning widely. He seems simply exhausted by the time Gabriel carries him into his room and helps him into one of his adorable pajamas with dog paw patterns all over them. Marshmallow and Buttercup already curl themselves up in Junior’s bed, waiting for the little boy to join them.

 

“I like Sammy,” Junior mumbles sleepily as Gabriel tucks him in, making sure that the plushie dog is tucked in as well. “He’s nice and his hair is so soft.”

 

“Oh, I bet it is,” Gabriel chuckles at that, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “Sleep tight, Jay-Jay.”

 

He’s already by the door, turning the lights off when Junior’s small voice is heard again. “Daddy?”

 

“What’s that, kiddo?”

 

“Can Sammy be my new mommy?”

 

Gabriel’s heart clenches as if it was being crushed in a vice grip. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he just murmurs, flicking the switch, darkness swallowing the room. 

 

The strange tightness doesn’t go away when he walks down the stairs, it doesn’t go away when he peeks into the living room again to see everyone in the exact same spot as fifteen minutes ago, it doesn’t go away when he finally reaches his workshop and closes the door behind. His chest feels way too small for his lungs, forcing him to take in shallow breaths when he makes sure that the front as well as the back door of the workshop are closed. Only then he reaches for his bottle of whisky and takes a swig out of it, hoping that the alcohol would stifle the aching inside of him.

 

Four years. Four years and it still stings like a son of a bitch.

 

No, no. Gabriel can’t get drunk now, he has to get the blueprint done in two days maximum and there’s no chance he’d manage to get all of it done in one day. Deep breaths. In and out, in an out. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. He will  _ make  _ everything fine. After a moment, he can breathe again. He slides his glasses from the top of his head onto his nose again and slides a big roll of paper along with a few pencils towards himself. He switches the desk lamp on, taking another deep breath and looks at the rough sketches he’s made so far.

 

Then there’s pounding on the door.


	6. v i

The unexpected sound causes Gabriel’s heart to skip a beat—or ten—the hand he was reaching for a pencil with knocking down his glass, whiskey pouring all over the blueprint. He only briefly acknowledges this fact when his breathing hitches up as he eyes the backdoor of his workshop. There’s matte glass in the upper part of it, and despite the darkness of the night, illuminated only by a weak lamp over the door, Gabriel still can see a strange silhouette outside. With his gaze still plastered to the entrance, he fumbles for one of the drawers of his work table. From the inside, he take out a gun. The metal is so uncomfortably cold it nearly burns his skin and makes the tips of his fingers itch, especially the one hooked around the trigger. 

 

Carefully, Gabriel slowly makes his way around the workshop, checking once again whether the front door of the room is properly closed. Whatever is going to go down here, it should stay here. The pounding crashes through the room again, filling Gabriel’s guts with dread. He exhales slowly through his nose, the light of the lamp reflecting on the smooth surface of his revolver. He waits until the knocking starts again and only then, he takes a couple of quick, confident steps towards the back door, pulling it open in one swift motion.

 

A pair of familiar, blue eyes looks back at him from a scruffy, pale face covered with dirt and some blood. His glasses are scratched and barely sitting still on his nose, his greasy hair is completely dishevelled, and his clothes look like he stole them from a beggar. But that’s not the thing that horrifies Gabriel the most. No, that’s the sight of another, half-conscious man pretty much hanging from the first one’s shoulder.

 

“Hello, little brother,” Lucifer rasps, his arms shaking with effort as he speaks those words. “You got a chair?”

 

It takes at least a minute before Gabriel is able to speak again—just enough time for Lucifer to step inside uninvited, close the door with his foot and help the unknown man onto the nearest chair. A man with a metal collar around his neck.

 

Oh, Gods, no.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Gabriel exclaims, tucking the gun away behind his pants, walking over to his older brother with his features flaring up in anger. “What the hell are you doing here?! You were supposed to stay away! Have you gone mental?!”

 

Lucifer makes a sour expression at that, his eyes squinching behind his glasses as if Gabriel’s voice was giving him a headache. “It’s really good to see you too,” he says before his attention shifts to the man on the chair. His dark, greying hair and beard are equally messed up, clothes tattered and skin dirty. They don’t smell too good either. “Cain?” Lucifer gently pats the man’s cheek. “Wakey-wakey, Cain, we’re here.”

 

The man blinks a few times before he opens his eyes, blue like the summer sky, looking at the two Novaks in such a way as if he isn’t sure where he is or what is happening to him. “What?” he grumbles, his voice rough like sandpaper. He looks and sounds like it’s been a while since he’s had anything to eat or drink. “What’s happening?” 

 

“Shush, it’s all good.” Lucifer’s voice is weirdly… soothing. Soft. Almost caring. Gabriel doesn’t remember his brother speaking with such a tone, ever, and they lived under the same roof for nearly sixteen years. “We’re at the mansion, it’s okay now. He’s gonna patch you up.”

 

“Patch him up?”

 

Only when Gabriel speaks those words, he realizes that the man is pressing his forearm to his chest, his hand wrapped tightly in some dirty, blood-soaked rags. There’s a nasty feeling at the back of Gabriel’s throat that whatever is covered by this makeshift dressing, it surely cannot be anything even remotely good. The pleading look Lucifer gives him only confirms his suspicions, even before he carefully reaches to the “badges” to unwrap them from around Cain’s forearm.

 

As soon as the dressing is gone, Gabriel’s head jolts back when a terrible smell attacks his nose. What he has in front of him is even worse than he would expect—Cain’s hand and wrist were severed not at all in a clean or gentle manner, and there is no doubt and  infection already deep in the festering wound. It looks and reeks disgustingly, and although Gabriel has never had any problem with blood and he works in it on a regular basis, his stomach still flips at least three times before he reminds himself to breathe steadily. Well. This does explain why Cain doesn’t look quite alright. 

 

Gabriel coughs. “Oh bloody Hell!” Good Gods, he doesn’t want to get anywhere close, yet somehow he knows that he’s going to have to. “What in the fresh fuck happened?”

 

“Long story,” Lucifer answers impatiently, tugging an old scarf from around his neck off. “A really long one and we’re pretty short on time here. Can you build him a hand?”

 

“ _ Can I build him a hand _ ? Why don’t I give him my bed and a goddamned noble title while we're on it, huh?” Gabriel spits out, his pulse increasing with each passing second. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening  _ now _ . Not when everything is so out of place already! A lot of booze is bound to disappear tonight. “Of course, I can build a goddamn hand, but I can’t implant a base on a piece of rotting flesh.” He gestures vaguely over at Cain, really unwilling to take another look at the wound. “I’m gonna have to get Cas.”

 

Lucifer immediately turns towards him, that dangerous spark in his eye. “No, you’re not. It’s already bad that we’re even here. Just… make something and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

 

Gabriel looks at his brother as if he was a madman. Frankly, he probably is. “You… okay, listen to me here, Lucifer. Your presence endangers me, Cas and  _ Junior _ —I could call the officials right this instant and get some pretty profit of turning you in. But you’re my brother and I’m not gonna do it  _ unless _ you tell me what to do. You’re in my house now, and if you want your boy toy to see the New Year’s Lights, you’re going to play according to  _ my _ rules.”

 

A sudden silence falls over the workshop, undisrupted by the faintest of sounds. Lucifer’s jaw clenches under the mess of his beard, nostrils trembling as he tries to stay calm. “Fine,” he finally snarls. “Go get him, I’ll stay here.”

 

“You better,” Gabriel snarls before heading towards the door, unlocking it quickly and leaving the workshop. He feels like he’s in some sort of a strange haze, or perhaps like he’s having a really ugly dream where the well-being of his little broken family is at stake and he’s the only holding power over what’s going to happen now.

 

He hates responsibility.

 

“Cassie,” he hums nonchalantly as he peeks into the living room, only to find Dean and Castiel sitting together on the touch with some whiskey in their hands, clearly in a middle of a conversation. “I need you in my workshop, stat. Sadly, I can’t grow a third hand, so…” he gestures at the corridor behind him. “I’ve got tea.”

 

There is a flash of understanding shifting through Castiel's features in the light of the burning fireplace. Growing up in a strict and abusive family, the brothers were bound to invent some sort of a code that would help them communicate without anyone else noticing. Tea meant help, now. 

 

Castiel's head moves ever so slightly before he gives Dean an apologetic look. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says, polite as always, when he sets his glass on the coffee table and he's out of the room in a matter of seconds. “What's going on?” he asks Gabriel in a low voice as they're already quickly walking through the mansion.

 

“Lucifer,” Gabriel replies briefly, yanking the door to the workshop open. Cain is in the exact same spot as he was before; however, he seems much more awake now, looking up to Lucifer as the two speak in hushed voices.

 

“Lucifer…?” Castiel echoes, his steps stopping as he stands completely stunned at the sight of his older brother, just being there, looking like a homeless man. Which, then again, isn't all that far from the truth.

 

Gabriel makes an impatient gesture. “You will have your moment of being reunited a bit later, alright? Now, get your medicine-trained ass over here and tell us what to do. There's no way I can work with this.” 

 

After a few seconds of confusion-filled silence, Castiel finally moves in the direction Gabriel pointed in. He doesn't really say anything, or throw to introduce himself as his good manners are no doubt telling him to, he just focuses on what he quickly notices. As Gabriel expected, the way his brother’s face squinches at the sight of Cain's stump only further confirms that the situation isn't good at all. 

 

Castiel inspects the wound for a few moments, getting as close to it as it's possible without disrupting Cain's personal space before he finally speaks up: “It's infected,” he announces. “Badly. You're going to need antibiotics,” he tells Cain. “I'm guessing you wanted to give him a prosthesis?” He glances at Gabriel. 

 

“That's kinda why we’re here,” Lucifer replies to that, his arms folded defensively on his chest.

 

“That's not going to be possible in the current state. There's already necrosis developed, and it's going to cause gangrene if we leave it like this. It has to be amputated.” 

 

Gabriel nods at that. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 

Lucifer steps closer to Cain and Castiel, nearly in between the two, his entire posture tensing up in an oddly protective manner. “What?” he snaps at his youngest brother sharply. “What do you mean, amputate? He’s already lost a hand, now you gonna chop his entire arm off?!”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant at all,” he defends himself. “Lucifer, you have to understand that his wound is infected. I don’t know how or when it happened, and I’m sure you were trying to take care of it to the best of your abilities, but the fact remains that it’s terribly infected. Do you see those black spots? It’s dead tissue and it’s going to cause gangrene and eventually kill your friend if we don’t cut it off. Besides, there’s no living nerve endings in these parts, so Gabriel won’t be even able to implant a functioning prosthesis. So, you either let us amputate a few inches of his forearm or he’s going to die.”

 

“Fine,” Cain says, a surprising amount of strength in his voice. “I agree to that. I don’t want to die, Luce,” he adds, his blue eyes gazing Lucifer. “Not after all we’ve been through.”

 

“This is a pretty good plan, and all,” Gabriel cuts in, leaning back against one of his worktables. “We’ve got an almost-medic here with us, we’ve got a prosthesis engineer, we’ve got workspace and bone saws and parts and wires, Hell, I even have a spare base that could be a match. But do you know what we  _ don’t _ have? A sedative.”

 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now, Gabe,” Lucifer huffs. “You’ve got enough money to sleep on, and you don’t have a sedative in this goddamn place?”

 

_ One, two, three. Breathe, Gabriel, breathe. _ “Yeah, things have changed a bit—Cassie and I are a bit low on money recently, so no, I don’t have my own sedatives anymore. I still got my numbing gel but that’s the best I can do right now. You’re gonna have to hold him down.”

 

For a brief second, Castiel judges Cain’s posture. “Hold him down?” the youngest of the Novak brothers repeat. “He looks about two hundred pounds, there is no way that Lucifer and I will be able to hold him still enough, or down at all. Not with my bad shoulder anyway. I… I think we are going to have to ask Sam and Dean for help.”

 

Shit.

 

It’s too late, Lucifer’s head already cocks to the side in the signature Novak gesture. “Sam and Dean?” he repeats, then the corners of his chapped lips curl up in a smile. “Oh, did you two get married when I was away?”

 

Gabriel growls at that and Lucifer receives a warning smack on the side from Cain.

 

“This isn’t funny,” Gabriel snarls. 

 

Castiel puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, clearly trying to stay the calm and rational one in this situation, but he isn’t fooling Gabriel. There is this deep vertical wrinkle in between his eyebrows that only appears when Castiel is worried. Very, very worried. “Sam and Dean are our servants,” he informs.

 

There’s a flash of immense fear on Cain’s face as the man slightly shuffles his chair back, while Lucifer loses the bits of cockiness and strong pose. The face of the oldest of the Novaks goes from sickly satisfied to shocked to betrayed in a matter of a fraction of a second. Then there’s this glow in his eyes Gabriel remembers from their childhood, the one that only ever appeared when Michael was anywhere close to them. Or that day when Lucifer was thrown out like garbage. 

 

“You…” Lucifer stutters out, pointing his finger at Gabriel. “You  _ bought _ servants…?”

 

“This is not even  _ nearly _ what you think it is,” Gabriel defends himself, a hand wandering through his hair. He briefly glances over at the clock at one of the walls. The operation and then the implant will take time, then they also have to find antibiotics somewhere in their house as well as a place for Lucifer and Cain to stay in—they won’t be able to go anywhere in the following days, not until Cain recovers. They have to get this done quickly, and that means there is no time for small talk. “And why the hell am I explaining myself to you! I’m not treating them like animals and you, dear brother, are one of the last people on this Godsforsaken planet to ever judge me on anything!”

 

“Oh, and you really are surprised that I’m concerned about you suddenly having two slaves again? After Kali?”

 

That one feels like a to the gut, taking Gabriel’s breath away for a moment. If they all are supposed to survive tonight, he is going to need lots,  _ lots _ of booze and all the self-control he was trying to work on for the past years. 

 

His words are dry in the warm air of the workshop, cracking like autumn leaves. “Cas. Get Sam and Dean. We have a lot of work to do.”

 

It is going to be a long night.


	7. v i i

Being a prosthetic engineer, Gabriel had to develop a strong gut. Working with cogs and wires is one thing, but once the time for connecting said wires to nerve endings comes, the engineering changes into surgery. It took Gabriel quite a while before he became comfortable with performing operations on soft tissue. On the body. On people. However, as soon as he blocked out this little important fact, as he forgot that the thing he’s attaching his prosthetic to is a human being, everything became so much easier.

 

Somehow, erasing this out of his mind as he worked completely took the performance, anxiety and fear of making a mistake out of the equation, leaving Gabriel to do his job quickly, efficiently and well. The deep red of blood and pale yellow of nerves, as well as the softness of muscles is the exact opposite of metallic hardness of metal; but, frankly, both work in a similar fashion. They simply require someone who knows how to connect one wire to the other so the entire machinery can work correctly.

 

Over the six years of his practice, Gabriel developed a system of performing a surgery that would enrich the patient by a limb, and the Novaks’ bank account by a few thousand. Step by step, just like building a prosthetic. First, the sedative to let the person hide away from the pain that always accompanies the following step. To be able to connect the metal limb to the stump, Gabriel first always implants a copper base of his own design—later on it makes changing prosthetics into new ones much more easier and painless. Unfortunately, to implant the said base, one has to have access to alive and healthy tissue as well as to blood and nerve endings. Hence the second step is always removing tissue and bone to the point he can have access to a satisfying amount of nerves. 

 

Once the base sits firmly on the stump, the rest of the procedure is relatively easy, at least in comparison to working with nerve endings. All it takes is to grab the prosthetic limb, attach it to the base, secure the fastener, wrap some bandages around it, put a small cast on top and violá. All of it can be done in under three hours, there is no rush or stress, and Gabriel can even have a cup of tea during the procedure.

 

Except that usually his patients aren’t aware of the pain. They are unconscious and laying still on a worktable very much like the prosthetic limb that is going to be attached to them. They don’t struggle, they don’t move, they don’t scream around the gag between their lips. Nothing,  _ nothing _ in Gabriel’s life has prepared him for the surgery performed on Cain Knight. 

 

Sam and Dean weren’t thrilled when the situation was laid out to them, Dean immediately saying no while Sam’s eyes grew big. It took some explaining a bit of the Novak brothers’ history before the initial reluctance eased. The longer the conversation went on, the more willing to help the Winchester brothers became, and by the end of it Dean was saying yes to the help but absolutely forbidding his little brother from participating. As was to be expected, Sam gave Dean a few curses implemented in a short lecture about helping other people. 

 

In theory, it was supposed to be simple. Gabriel would focus on removing the infected part of Cain’s forearm and then implanting the base, while Sam, Dean and Castiel would help to hold him down. Since Gabriel could clearly see that there’s something going on between the two, he just told Lucifer to try to keep his friend somewhat calm, or at least to talk to him and give him something to focus on other than the pain he’s going to experience. 

 

The reality is never as simple as the theory. 

 

It would have been so, so much easier if Cain was unconscious. Not only would he be still during the procedure, he would also be  _ quiet _ . It’s not the blood covering his shaking hands or the uneven cut in the flesh that’s bothering Gabriel—it’s the muffled screams, groans and pleads for mercy coming from a suffering man in an unimaginable pain. He should have passed out. He should have passed out by now, but it seems that even living in the streets didn’t famish such a strong man—for his own misfortune. Gabriel sincerely hopes that this inhuman endurance will run out once it’s the time for implanting the base of the prosthetic. Cutting the bone is one thing but playing with nerves is on a different level. 

 

“Hold him still,” Gabriel croaks at Sam, Dean and Castiel once he’s finally,  _ finally _ , gotten rid of the infected part of Cain’s forearm, leaving out a clean space for him to work on. 

 

Dean, whose face by now is in an unsettling green shade, throws him a hateful look. “What do you think we’re doing?!” His voice is unnaturally high, but that’s not a surprise. Sam looks like he’s about to throw up.

 

Gabriel points his bloodied finger at Dean. “Don’t try to play on my nerves now, boy!” he warns before heading around the table, closer to Cain’s face. Through all of this brutal process, Lucifer has been holding Cain’s head in a secure but gentle grip, talking to him through all of it.

 

“I think he’s gonna pass out,” Lucifer tells his younger brother when he approaches. His blue eyes are strangely glassy.

 

“It would be about the damn time,” Gabriel replies to that dryly. “Cain? Cain, buddy, can you hear me? I’m gonna need you to stay  _ really _ still now. It ain’t gonna be pleasant, but the worst is already behind us, alright?”

 

However, it seems like Cain’s stamina has already run out. All Gabriel gets in response to his instructions is a hazy look out of hurt eyes, right before the lids fall shut. Lucifer’s eyebrows draw together as he harshly strokes his thumb across his friend’s face, as if to check whether he has really, finally, went black. 

 

Lucifer inhales deeply. “He’s out,” he sighs out but he doesn’t leave his position from by Cain’s head. “Completely.”

 

Dean grunts as he pulls back from where he was keeping Cain’s legs down. “Finally!” he exclaims with relief in his voice, right before he collapses onto the nearest chair. He still looks sick when he runs a hand through his short, dirty-blonde hair, messing them up completely. “I could use a drink. Or ten.”

 

Castiel rubs his face. “So could I, if I’m being honest here.”

 

“Then get lost,” Gabriel just grunts at them, walking over to a wash bin to clean his hands. “I don’t need you here anymore. And if I will, I’ll make sure to get to you.”

 

The rest of the procedure goes smoothly. Castiel and Dean leave to get their well-deserved alcohol, while Sam and Lucifer stay in the workshop. The Winchester boy seems to be oddly interested in the process of implanting a prosthetic limb, but during that night, Gabriel doesn’t feel particularly chatty, not with the unfamiliar way his hands shake. Nevertheless, thanks to Cain’s blackout, he manages to wrap everything up within another hour. Since, as of now, there is no hand to be attached to the base, Gabriel simply makes a dressing out of fresh bandages, making sure that everything is properly set and disinfected beforehand. 

 

After two incredibly long hours, Gabriel needs some fresh air. He leaves Lucifer sitting by Cain’s side with uncharacteristic worry over his tired features, and Sammy standing quietly in the corner of the workshop. He just cracks the backdoor open and steps outside, a shiver running down his spine. 

 

It’s a clear night, the endless jetblack sky dusted with glimmering stars, shining and flickering like little pieces of glass reflecting the moonlight. A fresh layer of snow is covering the acres of the Novak property, only a shallow path leading from a set of door further back to Castiel’s greenhouse, the man’s own little world, hidden from the rest of the people in between a group of naked trees, an evergreen peeking from here and there. It’s quiet, like the whole world is asleep, not a single blow of wind disturbing the peace. 

 

Gabriel wraps his arms around himself, shaking slightly in the cold as he breathes deeply, steam appearing in front of him. When he and Lucifer were children, they would run across the snow-covered field in winter, exhaling deeply to see those white little clouds appear in front of them. Sometimes Lucifer would even let Gabriel sit on his shoulder, mimicking the sounds of a train while Gabriel’s little lungs were trying to provide as much steam as possible, since he was acting like the chimney. When the time passed, Gabriel played like that with Castiel, keeping the little brother on his shoulders. Those were good times—times before everything went to shit.

 

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here.” Sam’s voice is still weak when he silently leaves the workshop, joining Gabriel in the snow. “You can’t get sick.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Gabriel sighs. “It’s one of the many luxuries I just can’t afford now.” He looks up to the stars. “Gods, what a night. If I could, I would just chug down a bottle of whiskey and sleep for a week…”

 

Sam makes a choked sound that was probably supposed to be a chuckle. “That sounds like a good plan. I mean, you can’t really do that, but… that would be nice. Just… kinda sleep until everything gets better, you know what I mean?”

 

“Actually…” Gabriel risks a look in Sam’s direction. God, this kid looks like he’s going to cry. “Actually I do. I’m sorry you were in there, Sammy. You could have just stayed in the mansion. Look, I did what I did to save his life, and he agreed to it. It’s better to go through some pain and be all peachy later on, than…”

 

A very sharp inhale cuts through the silence of the night, Sam’s hands travelling up to his face to wipe away the tears. “No, that’s not it! I know you were just helping him, I… Haven’t you seen his neck? It’s healing but it’s all burned up, he must have had terrible owners. This… this just isn’t fair, Gabe. He must have been through so much, and you’re probably the first person who was willing to help him, and this just isn’t fair. He should have a bed and sedatives and painkillers and clean clothes, and… this just isn’t fair…” 

 

That kid is just eighteen years old, Gabriel suddenly realizes as he stands speechless, looking up at Sam who’s desperately trying to stop himself from crying. He’s exactly that, just a kid—one that has already been through things that would break the toughest of men. Yet, despite all of this, he’s standing there, pouring his tears out because someone has got it worse than him. Gods. This is crazy.

 

With as much gentleness as he can afford right now, Gabriel puts his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing it assuringly. “Life isn't fair,” he says bitterly. “There's a lot of bad people out there and you just can't save everyone, Sammy.”

 

“But…” 

 

“There is no but here. The best we can do is to be kind and help the ones we meet, yeah? We can't do you, or your brother, or Cain justice, we just try to make it better from now on.” 

 

Sam stays quiet for a moment, sniffing with wet paths of tears slowly freezing on his cheeks. He appears to be hesitating for a moment, biting down on his quivering lip. Then slowly, just enough to give Gabriel to back out, he leans and wraps his big arms around the Novak, pulling him into a tight, and somewhat desperate hug.

 

Gabriel freezes at this unexpected gesture. But is it really all that unforeseen? Nobody who hasn't been gradually introduced to the sight and smell of blood, naked flesh and bone shouldn't see or hear, or in any way experience Cain's surgery. Sam, Dean, Castiel, Lucifer— they all should have been sitting safely in the mansion, Cain should be sedated and unconscious and unable to feel the pain, Gabriel should be able to perform the surgery quickly and painlessly.

 

The world isn't fair.

 

“There, there,” Gabriel breathes out at last, carefully reaching to put his hands on Sam's wide back and rub soothing circles into trembling muscles. “Come on now, there's no reason to cry. Everything is gonna be fine, you're fine, your brother is fine, my brothers are fine and Cain is fine. Just give it some time, yeah?” 

 

“Yeah,” Sam sniffles, pulling back with clear reluctance. “Sorry,” he smiles awkwardly, tears still staining his face. At least he's gotten some of the colours back. “I shouldn't have…”

 

“It's fine, Sammy,” Gabriel assures him. “It was a tough time, for all of us. You should go and get some proper rest, alright?” 

 

The Winchester boy doesn't look too certain. “Are you sure?” he asks in a cautious manner. 

 

There's a scoff coming from between Gabriel's dry lips. “Yeah, I think Lucifer and I will manage on our own from now on. I'm gonna have to get some measurements from Cain's good hand if I'm gonna build a proper prosthesis.” He rubs his face, way too exhausted to make a proper plan now. “Then we'll get him to the gardener’s house, I guess. Nobody can know that those two are here.” 

 

Sam slowly nods. “Okay. So, uh, good luck. And goodnight, Gabe.” 

 

Everything else drags on way too well for Gabriel's taste. Thankfully, Lucifer isn't in the mood for small talk either. He's very reluctant at first, but after ten minutes of talking he finally agreed to go and fresh up before it will be the time to take unconscious Cain off to the little house deeper in the Novaks’ fields. Gabriel savours the time alone as much as he can, quickly taking measurements off of Cain, hoping the man doesn't randomly wake up.

 

He doesn't, and after about half an hour, Lucifer returns to the workshop wearing some of Castiel's garments and a pile of fresh clothes tucked under his arm, no doubt meant for Cain. With the amount of his own clothes Castiel has given away by now, Gabriel doesn't doubt that they will soon have to invest in some new ones. But that can wait. Carrying Cain to the gardener’s house, bringing wood to stick in the little fireplace there and making fetching some food and tea for the two from the mansion takes another hour and a half off of Gabriel's night. 

 

By the time everything is settled, at least for now, the sun is already raising up, cutting pink and orange wounds into the fading navy of the sky. The clock in the entrance hall shows five in the morning when Gabriel drags himself there at last. Halfway through his walk towards the stairs, he decides to make the last effort of the day and check whether the mail has arrived yet. He's waiting for some more instructions on his recent commission, and the sooner he gets it the better for his bank account

 

If Gabriel went straight to bed, he would have gotten a solid three hours of sleep. He didn't though, and the envelope covered with Michael's handwriting, laying on the black stone of the entrance hall successfully takes the promise of rest away.


	8. v i i i

He’s been there before. 

 

He recognizes the dead, cracking ground under his dirty face and the itching dust in his mouth. He’s familiar with the bright sun burning his flesh even through his uniform, as well as with the dead silence around him. He knows the sight of lifeless bodies scattered around the desert like toys abandoned by children on the floor, away from their rightful places. But little wooden soldiers don’t bleed, their little wooden guns don’t murder others and their little wooden bodies always find their final rest where they belong. They know that, no matter how long they lie forgotten somewhere, they will be eventually picked up and taken care of with the love they deserve. Nobody knows if the bodies of the fallen soldier will ever know other burial than the one provided by the sand gathering around them.

 

The pain pulsating from his shoulder with each struggling beat of Castiel’s heart is hardly bearable, sending little waves of shock through nerve endings in his entire body. His mouth and throat feel just as dry as the ground beneath him, his limbs heavying him way too much. Grains of sand slip through his fingers as he tries to pull himself forward, through the desert in the rays of the merciless sun. The shattered bones of his wounded shoulder shift and crack at his every movement, messing him up from the inside even more. However, he can’t stop. If he stops moving, he will never start doing so again. He will die there, either from exposure to the heat, dehydration or bleeding out. He will die here, having only corpses to accompany him to the realm of the Gods. 

 

_ My name is Castiel Seraphim Novak _ , he thinks to himself as he struggles through the miles and miles of dead and empty land, leaving a trail of sweat and blood behind.  _ I’m the youngest, sixth son of Charles Deus Novak _ . Focus on the facts, Castiel, focus on the reality. It will keep you anchored in the world of living.  _ I’m twenty years old, and I’m dying _ .

 

The first breath of the cool air nearly burns Castiel’s lungs as he sits up in his bed rapidly, cold sweat running down his face and his back, pain biting into his shoulder like a mad dog. He looks around the room with scared, blue eyes, the furniture emerging from the darkness in the pale moonlight seeping inside through a crack in the curtains. It’s completely silent—the mansion appears to finally find some peace after the horrors that took place in Gabriel’s workshop hours prior. There is still a sinking feeling in Castiel’s stomach when he crawls out of his bed and makes his way over to the window of shaking legs, his bare feet tapping quietly on the wooden floor.

 

As always when he’s in distress, Castiel’s gaze immediately falls onto his little greenhouse tucked away in between the trees before a bright spot catches his eye. The windows of the gardener’s house, standing alone at the edge of the vast garden, are lit up. Gabriel must have told Lucifer to take Cain there and let the man rest until the sun rises and they all are forced to think about their next steps. 

 

Steps. When did Castiel’s life turned from peacefully studying medicine to planning how to not get caught by the government? Apparently, when he was just too weak to let two brothers he didn’t even initially know to be separated. Even if it wasn't for the fact that the main motive of him knowing that it's like to be separated from your sibling, the truth remains that he's simply too soft for the harsh and cold world he's supposed to live in.

 

_ You have too much heart, Castiel. _

 

Knowing that he won't find more sleep tonight, Castiel turns around from the window and turns his steps towards the door of the bedroom, his knees still weak. If he's not going back to bed—and with the memories of getting a heat stroke with a gunshot wound on his shoulder blade he sure as hell isn't—he can use some of this blissful peace to study for his upcoming exams. Perhaps the life at the Novak mansion turned into some sort of a cheap novel, but the midterms’ dates remain the same, just as indifferent to two illegally purchased slaves and a handless man as the stars shining high above.

 

The plush carpets spread all over the hallways, tickling the soles of his feet as he makes his way downstairs, the softness of the rugs quickly replaced with cold hardwood Castiel remembers that he left his textbooks and notes in the living room the previous evening when Gabriel called him into the workshop and, frankly, Castiel is more than happy to have an excuse to leave his bedroom. He never likes to stay there after having a nightmare, fearing that the exhaustion will take over and force him back to fall asleep and succumb to the horrors of his subconscious mind. 

 

Perhaps a cup of tea would help him to at least slow his heartbeat down, but to have the right herbs, Castiel would have to go back upstairs, put on some proper clothes and only then head out. On his way to the living room, he didn’t even bother with dressing a robe and walking out to the greenhouse with only a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts on doesn’t sound like a good of an idea. It seems like Castiel will just have to hope that he will calm down on his own…

 

“Dean?”

 

A blonde-haired head turns to face Castiel. “Oh, hey,” Dean rasps. “Can’t sleep too, huh?”

 

Castiel licks over his lips nervously, his hand wandering to the hem of his shirt to pull it down slightly, although that doesn’t really change anything. He didn’t expect anyone to be up at this hour—it’s barely six in the morning, way before anyone usually wakes up, especially given how long into the night they all stayed awake. Well, he shouldn’t really be surprised that Dean isn’t sleeping, they have a long and a difficult night behind them and falling asleep after seeing so much blood—especially if one is not used to the sight of it—must be more than difficult.

 

With that thought, Castiel just sighs as he makes his way to one of the armchairs and sits down in it, pulling a folded blanket onto his bare legs. He only now realizes how cold it’s here without the fireplace burning. “You could say so.”

 

“Yeah, I can’t blame ya,” Dean forces a rough chuckle as he takes a swig from the glass he’s holding in his hand. “That was, uh, that was some pretty nasty shit. Believe me or not but we don’t have the pleasure of seeing rotten arms in the slums all that often.”

 

“I… do believe you,” Castiel tells Dean quietly, reaching over to the crystal carafe with whiskey. It’s almost empty, they will need a refill. “I’ve performed autopsies before and I’ve watched surgeries being done, but… well, now I see why having a sedative at hand is so important in my field of work.”

 

Another dry chuckle. “Ya think? Fuck, that was nasty. Your brother is crazy.”

 

Those words make Castiel immediately stiffen and straighten up. “He’s not crazy,” he tells Dean with a surprising amount of confidence in his voice. “He did what he did to save Cain’s life, because our brother asked him to. I can assure you that he did his best to make it quick, but with the tools at hand and without any kind of a sedative except some numbing gel he—”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean stops the monologue. “I didn’t… say it too well. I mean… eh, Gabriel did the right thing, okay? But, man, he was fucking  _ calm _ throughout this whole thing like it was a piece of cake!  _ That _ is crazy.”

 

“Oh. Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I just misunderstood you.” Embarrassment burns Castiel’s cheeks and ears. “In  this case, I guess you’re right.” He takes a sip of whisky. “Although crazy isn’t exactly the word I would use. He’s just got a thick skin… or at least he acts like he does. I don’t know him as well as you might think.”

 

Dean gives him a look from under a raised eyebrow.  “Really? You two seem close.”

 

“Seem,” Castiel repeats, looking down at the amber fluid swirling in his glass. “We used to be, but Gabriel never treated me the same since I came back from the army. He still blames himself that I had to go instead of him. Then when I thought it was getting better, Junior was born and… some things happened and…” He sighs deeply at the sudden ache in his chest. No matter the fact that he understands the position Gabriel is in, knowing that their relationship will never be the same again hurts. “Here we are now.”

 

“Man, I’m sorry. I really am.” Dean leans forward from his seat and rests his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, something he would never do without being intoxicated. “I got some tough times with Sammy, too, but… he’s the most important to me, y’know? He’s my little brother, he’s my family. I can’t imagine just, y’know, not being close to him.”

 

Castiel looks at Dean for a moment with his eyes wide, not used to any form of physical comfort. Someone just touching him with good intentions is a new and odd, but a very  _ good _ feeling. “I… understand. I’m glad you have such a good relationship with your brother.”

 

“Yeah, he hates me sometimes,” Dean croaks, patting Castiel’s shoulder and letting go. “He says I’m too protective and all.”

 

“Being overprotective is in the job description for older brothers,” Gabriel’s voice suddenly comes from the direction of the hallway. “At least most of ‘em anyway. You kids shouldn’t be asleep?”

 

Dean looks over his shoulder. “Didn’t know there’s a curfew for us.”

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes at that. “Ha-ha,” he growls, stepping into the living room and switching the main lights on. In the artificial glow of the bulbs, Castiel can clearly see how exhausted his brother looks. “I bet you’re fun at parties, big shot.”

 

“Right back at’cha, shortie.” 

 

With a hateful gaze thrown at Dean, Gabriel lets himself sink in the other armchair. “Lovely talking, as always. Now if you could get lost somewhere so my brother dearest and I can talk, that would be just great.”

 

“So this ‘no secrets’ rule applies only to Sammy and I?” Dean asks as he pours the remaining whisky from the carafe into his empty glass. It’s clear that he’s already drank a bit too much, but after how much they all have been through, Castiel can’t blame him. Gabriel doesn’t look exactly sober either. “You’re already hiding lotsa stuff from us, man. Did Sammy know that you got one more brother? ‘Cause I didn’t.”

 

“Four,” Castiel corrects. “Four more brothers. There’s actually six of us.”

 

Dean’s plush lips form a perfect O. “Oh holy shit! I knew you nobles were crazy ‘bout keeping your bloodline flowing, but  _ that _ is just excessive.” 

 

A slightly hysterical laughter flies out of Castiel’s mouth before he remembers that he should hold it at bay, along with the rest of his emotions bubbling in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he presses out instead, but he cannot help sending Dean an amused smile. “But I think that Dean is right. We are all living here now, we’re pretty much a family, we shouldn’t be keeping secrets from one another.”

 

Judging by the sour expression that has briefly flashed through Gabriel’s features, he’s very far  from being pleased at Castiel calling Sam and Dean their family like that, however he chooses not to comment on that. At least for now. “Fine,” he says instead, taking a piece of paper out of his pant’s pocket and throws it at the table between all three of them. “Michael is coming.”

 

This once sentence changes the pleasant warm feeling coursing through Castiel’s veins into acid, burning through his tissue and guts, as well as forcing his heart to suddenly jump and clog itself in his throat. “What…?” he asks weakly, little black spots appearing at the edges of his vision. No. This cannot be happening. Not now.

 

“Oh, you heard me right,” Gabriel tells him, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at Castiel sternly from above his glasses. “You know he still keeps tabs on me and apparently he’s decided it’s about the time for another friendly family visit.” He points at the letter with his bearded chin. “He’s gonna be here in a few days, with Naomi.”

 

“Oh, dear Gods…”

 

“Uhm,” Dean cuts in. “Who are we talking about exactly? I’m, I’m a bit lost.”

 

Gabriel gives him a dismissive look. “Michael is our eldest brother,” he explains briefly. “And Naomi is his bitch of a wife. Michael means trouble, at least for me. He couldn’t give less fucks about Cas, but me, oh, he has a very special kind of hate for me.” He pauses to inhale deeply. “I’m going to have to call Zachariah to get us fake certificates.” 

 

Castiel bites down on his lip. “Or you could ask Crowley for help.”

 

“We are  _ not _ asking Crowley for help. Over my dead goddamn body.”

 

“You know that Michael will check,” Castiel tries to be rational, although his heart hammering in his esophagus doesn’t make it any easier for him. There is familiar tingling in his shoulder and his fingers, one that will undoubtedly lead to a severe panic attack if he doesn’t calm himself down right this instant. “Crowley has his sources, he has people working for him everywhere. Faking a few statements will be nothing for him.”

 

“I don’t want to owe him a favour,” Gabriel groans as he runs his hands through his messed up hair. He looks old, way too old for someone who hasn’t even celebrated their thirtieth birthday yet. “But, fuck, you’re right. I’m gonna have to call that bastard.”

 

Dean listens to the exchange quietly before he speaks up again. “Uhm, I’ve got a question. Dunno if you’ve noticed but, uhm, this Cain guy? You know, the handless one? Yeah, he’s got a collar on his neck.” To put an emphasis on this, Dean curls his finger under his own collar and tugs at it slightly. “That means he’s also chipped, and as far as Sammy’s told me, that means he can be tracked? Shouldn't we be, I dunno, talking about that?” 

 

With another inattentive gaze, Gabriel waves his hand at him. “We don’t gotta worry about it.”

 

“We don’t?”

 

“I’ve talked to Luce about it. Cain is one of the illegal slaves, so there’s no documentation about him, at least no proper one. The only person that even knew he was chipped were the auctioneer and the owner. The owner who just so happens to be dead,” Gabriel explains. “And before you ask me, no, according to Luce, Cain didn’t kill him. His owner was an old man, he just passed away in his sleep one night, so Cain took the teaser and ran. The curious thing, though? His chip is broken.”

 

Castiel raises his head. “Excuse me, what?”

 

A sickly amused, feverish smirk stretches Gabriel’s lips. “I know, I didn’t believe at first either. But I’ve checked. Cain has a gun wound on his neck. His chip stopped the bullet, fell apart and in some fucking way didn’t trigger all the shock potential of his collar. It did tease him, his neck is all burnt up, but his brain isn’t a liquid mush.” He blinks a few times, as if to remind himself that his odd and very sudden interest in the way chips work isn’t their main concern in this very moment. “Summing it up, we don’t gotta worry about Cain’s chip. We don’t gotta worry about him at all if he and Luce just keep quiet. Michael isn’t the gardening type anyway.”

 

“This isn’t funny, Gabriel,” Castiel says with choked voice, clenching his hands in his lap to prevent them from shaking uncontrollably. “You know Michael, you know what he’s capable of. One wrong move and he’s going to…”

 

“He’s not going to do anything,” Gabriel interrupts him harshly. “As far as Michael knows, I’ve been a perfect citizen and nobleman for the past four years and unless any of you knuckleheads tell him something, it’s going to stay this way.” He stands up from the armchair and gestures over at the phone standing by the couch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”

 

Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat with effort, a feeling of inevitable doom creeping up his spine the same way it did that sunny day when he was shot.


	9. i x

The thick smell of opium and sweet perfumes lingers in the air heavily, accompanied by smooth clouds of lilac smoke. The interior is hot and dim, the huge fireplace is roaring with high flames, partially diffusing the dusk caused by shining pieces of deep-purple cloth hanging up on the windows. Wherever one looks, there are silky pillows spread on the plush carpet covering the floor, as well as on the numerous couches and armchairs with enough room for two. In the midst of it all, there are the clients and “employees” of the Hell’s House in various stages of intoxication, from either alcohol or drugs, but they all have something in common—they couldn’t care less about who comes in and who comes out, as long as they mind their own business. There aren't many rules in the Hell’s House, but keeping your mouth shut about the regulars is certainly one of the strict ones. 

 

Was it any other day, Gabriel would just shrug his coat off and lie in between the pillows on the ground. Was it any other day, he would just enjoy the goods in the place—the booze, the drugs and the wide variety of company. Was it any other day, he would be happy to be here. However, today he is not. Today, he very much wishes that he didn’t have to be here, in the middle of the stuffy hallway with the pungent smell sinking into his clothes and hair, biting into his nostrils and making him dizzy. Oh, how does Gabriel wish he could enjoy his stay here like every other guest and let go of the responsibilities awaiting him back home. Sadly, it’s not possible, and heavy steps on the cracking stairs only force him to take in the fact that he’s in a position without any route of escape.

 

“Ah, Gabriel Novak.” Crowley’s voice is dripping with some sort of grim delight. “It’s a pleasure to see you in my establishment again.”

 

“Establishment?” Gabriel scoffs. “You have a whorehouse, Fergus.”

 

“Excuse you, I have the best whorehouse with the best whores in the province. Don’t compare my business to every other tavern you can find in the harbor district.” 

 

Gabriel lets out a humourless chuckle at that. “Touch é , Fergus. Touch é .” 

 

“Don’t call me that.” Crowley puts on a fake smile as he claps his hands and rubs them vigorously. “What can I get for you today, Novak? A girl? A boy? Your favourites don’t have any clients today, I could give you three one of my best rooms.”

 

With a pained grunt, Gabriel corrects his glasses on his nose, tapping his cane against the floor. “I wish, Crowley, I wish. Unfortunately, I’m short on cash. And that’s not why I’m here. I’m gonna have to ask you a favour.” 

 

This statement ignites little sparkles in Crowley’s bottomless, dark eyes. Poor are the souls of those who take this as a sign of a greed for money, for they will no doubt be lost in one of Crowley’s many complicated games created either to find more dirt for the members of the government, or simply to entertain the man himself. Hell’s House, as well as other facilities, is nothing but a cover. Fergus Dives Crowley is not a pimp or a businessman—he’s the true king of the underworld.

 

Thankfully, Gabriel has known Crowley for long enough to be fully aware what the sudden change in Crowley’s eyes mean—if there’s something he’s greedy for, it’s information. And information surely is the price Gabriel will have to pay for the help, no matter how unwilling he is to do so. The situation he is in leaves him with no other choice than to go begging the king of underworld for help like some low peasant without a mark in his bank account.

 

Pathetic.

 

“A favour, you say?” Crowley’s voice is trembling at the very edge ever so slightly. “Well, in this case I guess we shall move this conversation to my office, don’t you think, Novak?”

 

“I just hope you’ve got some good whiskey,” Gabriel replies to that smoothly, already taking his coat off and handing it to the nearest girl dressed in a sheer purple material that leaves very little to the imagination. “There’s some matters that ought to be discussed.”

 

A sly smirk crooks Crowley’s lips. “Of course. You know the way.”

 

Gabriel doesn’t speak another word, instead he just turns towards a narrow staircase that leads him upstairs to the first floor, and then climbs even further up, ignoring the sounds coming from some of the rooms. He quickly reaches the office with Crowley following shortly behind. The man closes the door tightly behind them and shoots Gabriel a curious look as he walks over to a small table where a carafe and crystal glasses are shining in the light falling onto them from the burning fireplace. Even the flames here have a strange, violet tint.

 

“Care to explain?” Crowley asks simply, pouring a generous amount of the liquor into two glasses, handing one of the over to Gabriel. “In detail, preferably.”

 

One deep inhale later, Gabriel is already speaking. “I need to obtain some documents. Records. Statements. You know, the whole package along with seals, signatures and every single little document that I might need to prove that I purchased two servants legally. I bought them off from Zachariah Fuller’s auction, but let’s just say that the certificates he gave me were pretty sloppily done and they are not suitable for my needs. Can you do it?”

 

Crowley takes his sweet time sipping his whiskey. “Michael,” he says at last.

 

“Come again?”

 

“Michael,” the king of the underground utters clearly. “Your eldest brother, the heir of the Novak Company. He’s coming into town, isn’t he? And he doesn’t know that his little brother bought himself a set of new toys just weeks after the government decided to abolish his punishment. Feel free to tell me I’m wrong if I make a mistake in my reasoning somewhere.”

 

Gabriel just clenches his jaw and lets Crowley continue.

 

“So instead of buying servants from a legal source—as a sane person would—you instead decided to put yourself, your brother and your son at stake for the sake of buying servants from Fuller. Which leads me to believe that you’ve purchased them for a very specific reason, didn’t you?”

 

“Can you do it, or not?” Gabriel presses out his grit teeth. “You’re not the only person I can go to.”

 

The king of the underground chuckles softly. “Of course you can, there’s a lot of bums hiding in the slums who could do it for you. Hell, I’m sure you would even find some commoners willing to risk their miserable lives for a pocket full of golden marks. But Michael is thorough, so you need someone good, and I’m the best.” He puts his glass aside. “Bring me the papers Fuller gave you, I’ll need the information and photos off of them.”

 

In the silence of the office, the rustle of papers pulled out from the inside pocket of Gabriel’s suit jacket is loud like a rumbling thunder. “What do you want?” 

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Don’t act stupid, Fergus,” Gabriel hisses. “You make enough from your brothel for you to sleep on. You don’t want money for your services, so I’m asking—what do you want?”

 

There is that all-knowing look on Crowley’s face. “Let’s just say that one day  _ I _ will be the one asking  _ you  _ for a favour, should it be a service or an information, and you _ will not _ say no to me.”

 

Gabriel stands up. “If you think you will ever lie any of your greasy fingers on my son—”

 

“Oh, please, I couldn’t care less about your bastard. You like to act like you’re an open book, Novak, but you very often fail to mention to the readers that it’s written in a different language so what they see might not quite be what they think it is. You can pretend to be tough but I see you’re covered in cracks and we both know that your little illegitimate kid isn’t the only pressure point you’ve got. I suggest you do not test me.”

 

Moments pass without neither of them saying a word, just looking each other into eyes as if to check which one of them steps back first. This time, it’s Gabriel. He doesn’t have time for this. 

 

“Hail to the king,” he just spits out as he throws Sam’s and Dean’s documents onto Crowley’s desk before leaving.

  
  


Ever since they first met, Lucifer knew that Cain's stamina and endurance were nearly inhuman—the man could work for hours without breaking a sweat. Sometimes he would leave the tiny, shabby flat they shared in the slums early in the morning and he would only come back far into the night, looking fresh as ever. It had its perks, of course, especially with Lucifer’s inability to engage in physical labour, Cain was their main source of poor income. Well, not as much inability as being sane enough not to try—not with his poor eyesight and only equipped with glasses way too weak from him. Lucifer might have gotten used to living in a permanently fogged world, but he wasn’t risking his life for a few marks.

 

He and Cain had a deal—Cain would make sure they have enough money to survive in the underworld, and Lucifer would take care of their “household”. There was no end to jokes and snarky comments about the two of them being like an old marriage, but it was much better than Lucifer has ever hoped to have after being disowned by his family and nearly starving to death in the streets. Having someone to provide money for him in exchange for cooking a meal and cleaning the only two rooms they’ve had was nearly luxurious, at least in comparison to sleeping under the bare sky and eating out of trash cans.

 

Cain’s endurance also came in handy when they had to flee from their flat, when he lost his hand while they were on a run and during the long journey back to Lucifer’s hometown where Gabriel still lived in their mansion. However, as soon as the words “no sedatives” were heard, both Cain and Lucifer knew that Cain’s gift was now going to become his curse. With as much as the man could take in, it was truly a miracle that he even passed out at one point, even if it was after he’s suffered through the worst pain. 

 

Now the curse is a gift again, possibly the only thing that gives Cain high chances for a quick recovery. Gabriel helped Lucifer with dragging Cain across the yard and to the gardeners’ house. The place was dusty as all Hells and, judging from the smell of the stuffy air alone, it’s clear that it hasn’t been used in a long time. Together, the two Novak brothers brought some wood in to burn up the little metal stove, just big enough to warm up the tiny cottage properly. Gabriel also brought in a bit of food for Lucifer and for Cain, should the man wake up anytime soon—Lucifer’s guess being that it won’t take long before it happens.

 

It wasn’t until after Gabriel finally left that Lucifer felt utterly exhausted. It’s been a long time on a run and keeping Cain somewhat distracted from the pain of a severed forearm was somehow even more exhausting. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but when he opens his eyes again, the winter sun is already peering into the gardener’s house, filling the room with unbearable brightness.

 

Lucifer lets out a displeased grunt as he sits up straight in the armchair he apparently used for a bed last night and runs a hand through his messed-up hair. He could really use a haircut, but sadly, appearance is one of the very last things he has the time or the energy to care about. He gets up and takes a few short steps to get to a small table standing in the middle of the room where the food Gabriel brought the night prior is waiting for him. Among plates, pieces of bread and cheese, Lucifer notices a few new jars, along with a short note attached to them:

 

_ Balm for burns is green, Gabriel’s numbing gel is purple. The round pills are painkillers, but don’t let him take more than four in one day. The other ones are antibiotics to fight off the infection—just make sure he eats something before taking those, two a day. _

_ -Castiel _

 

With a quiet hum, Lucifer picks up a small jar with thick, green paste inside, squinching his eyes at the piece of paper. This should come in handy—Cain’s neck was pretty badly burnt when his chip was destroyed and before there was nothing at hand they could use to at least ease the unpleasant sensation. Lucifer suspects that Cain will be too distracted with a raging pain of a fresh wound on the remains of his forearm to even notice the burns on his neck, but this doesn’t mean they shouldn’t take care of them. The last thing they need is even more infection.

 

Lucifer takes one of the chairs from the table and sets it next to the narrow bed where Cain is still sleeping, pale and sweating, and takes a seat, opening the jar. He scrunches his nose at the intense smell of herbs he’s suddenly hit with. Taking some of the balm onto his fingers, he leans in to rub it into Cain’s reddened neck when the man suddenly speaks up:

 

“I can do that myself, you know?”

 

“Oh, you bastard!” Lucifer immediately pulls his hand back. “How long have you been awake?”

 

Cain opens his blue eyes tiredly, giving Lucifer a slightly amused look. “Not long,” he admits, shuffling in the bed a little, instinctively pulling his mutilated arm close to his chest. “Where are we?”

 

“In the gardener’s house. By Gabriel’s mansion. He helped me carry you over here last night after he was done with you.” Lucifer points at the metal shining at the end of Cain’s stump. “He said he’s gonna try fixing up a hand for you as quick as he can, but you still need some proper rest.”

 

“Oh, right. I forgot that’s what we’re here for.”

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Ha-ha,” he utters without humour. “Now stay still, we gotta take care of those burns. Then I’m gonna stuff you with food and pills and then you’ll go back to sleep.”

 

Some sort of warmth burns up on Cain’s face as he tilts his head to the side to let Lucifer rub the herbal balm into the burn marks under his collar. “If I knew that getting a limb amputated makes you so caring, I’d make sure to lose a hand much sooner.”

 

Upon hearing that, Lucifer stops his movements and gives Cain an unamused look before pressing a starved kiss to his lips. “You’re an ass.”

 

“Maybe, but you still love me,” Cain murmurs sweetly.

 

“Shut up, and be grateful that we’re finally safe.”

 

They aren’t.


	10. x

During the days preceding Michael’s arrival, the atmosphere at the Novak mansion becomes so charged with unease, it becomes surprisingly difficult to do as much as breathe. All the tension seems to be sinking into pores, hair and clothes, leaving the residents of the mansion in a state of permanent distress—one so prominent that even the dogs seem to notice it, quietly following them around but never coming close if they’re not called. Once Sam and Dean were informed, in detail, about what kind of person Michael is and what his visit will mean to them, their attitude towards Castiel and Gabriel, as well as overall behaviour have clearly changed, no matter how hard they’re trying to hide it. 

 

As if all of this wasn’t enough to drive everyone crazy, Junior can also sense whatever disaster is heading their way. The little boy wakes up at night from nightmares more often than ever before and he absolutely refuses to let go of his dad for a second. As much Gabriel loves his son, he can’t deny that it quickly becomes rather bothersome and simply exhausting. He doesn’t like to have his freedom limited, no matter where the limitation comes from. Junior is a rather peaceful child, fully able to take care of himself if he’s given a task, but still, a child remains a child, and these tend to demand attention from their parents.

 

Lastly, there’s still the case of Lucifer and Cain living in the gardener’s house remaining. The easiest solution would be to simply send them away, tell them to try their luck elsewhere, however, that’s obviously not an option. Gabriel hasn’t finished building the prosthetic arm for Cain yet, and even if he did, the man is still fighting off a blood infection and blood loss. He needs time, food and medications to recover—sending him away would not only be inhumane, it would sentence him to death. 

 

With all that in mind, they had to work out a plan how to survive while they’re sharing the mansion with Michael and his wife.

 

First and foremost, Sam and Dean were, not as much instructed but asked to act like real, proper servants. Since they were already doing most of the chores around  the mansion, this shouldn’t be much of a change for them, of course, with a few exceptions. No sleeping in, no getting snacks, no talking to Castiel or Gabriel, no taking breaks in the living room—not doing anything a servant in any other household wouldn’t do. Neither of the brothers was too thrilled about the upcoming new situation but they knew that it’s for their own safety and well-being. 

 

One of the most important parts of the plan was to make sure that Michael and Naomi remain absolutely unaware of Lucifer and Cain’s presence during they stay. They’ve decided to have Dean sleep in the gardner’s house, just for the sake of having an made-up explanation for the path leading there as well as for the lights shining during the night. As an older protective brother, Dean didn’t want to leave Sam at the mansion alone, but he had to give way to it, since Sam was supposed to be acting as Junior’s nanny, and thus he had to be constantly available. 

 

As promised, Crowley provided them with all the documentation they could possibly need, as well as contacted the right people for statements. He also attached a few letters from a non existing client who ordered a prosthetic hand from Gabriel, should Michael wander off to the workshop and start asking questions.

 

Then, the day has finally come.

 

Winters in the north of the country, where the Novak mansion stands, are always long and cold—despite it being March already, a thick layer of white fluff covered the front yard of the residence, even more of it falling down from the cloudy sky. The weather is grim, to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t lift up the spirits of the Novak brothers awaiting Michael’s arrival. Sam and Dean have already wandered off to the main gate, looking out for the approaching vehicle. The suspense would be more than nerve-wrenching on its own, and Junior’s whining doesn’t make it any better. 

 

“C’mon, champ,” Gabriel tells his son, looking down at the boy standing by his side. “Brighten up a little, nothing’s wrong.” 

 

Junior, chewing on a leg of his plush dog up until this point now turns his big golden eyes up at his dad. “I’m scared,” he admits with his little voice. 

 

Gabriel pouts his mouth in an exaggerated manner as he takes his son into his arms, not minding the snow falling off of the toddler’s shoes. “There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetie,” he lies and presses a kiss to Junior’s chubby cheek. “It’s just your uncle and your aunt coming over for a few days! And I, and uncle Cassie and Sammy and Dean are all going to be here with you, too! It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

 

Even at his young age, Junior doesn’t seem to be too convinced by Gabriel’s words. He just pushes the leg of his toy back into his mouth and wraps one of his small arms around his dad’s neck, holding onto him tightly, trying to hide in the warmth of comforting touch. 

 

“They’re coming,” Castiel suddenly speaks up, looking off into the distance where headlights of a vehicle suddenly emerge from between the hills of snow. Despite the distance, they both can see how Sam and Dean straighten their back when the machine passes by them, its polished black surface cutting itself off from the white background. 

 

As soon as it rolls onto the possession, the gate falls shut behind it and the Winchesters follow it quickly through the trodden path, ready to take Michael's and Naomi’s luggage into the mansion. Gabriel squeezes Junior reassuringly and gives the boy another smooch on the cheek as he takes his one, last free breath before he's bound to suffocate for the days to come.

 

Michael didn't change at all. They haven't seen each other in nearly four years and he's still fairly young, but given the kind of responsible job his brother has, Gabriel truly expected Michael to be at least a little bit more exhausted or stressed than he used to be. That is not the case at all. The eldest of all the Novak siblings still looks like he hasn't aged a day since his twenty-fifth birthday—not a single wrinkle furrows his smooth tanned skin, not one grey hair marks his dark, nearly black hair. His suit is perfectly tailored an ironed, his shoes and the head of his cane polished. And his eyes, blue cold and cruel as always. 

 

“Gabriel,” Michael greets his brother, not even waiting for Naomi to leave the vehicle, once again clearly showing off that there is no such thing as love in their marriage. “I see that you've got new servants. I don't have to be worried, do I, little brother?”

 

There's that asphyxiating feeling again. “Of course not, brother mine,” Gabriel forces a nonchalant tone but he doesn't fail to notice how choked he sounds. He automatically wraps his arms tighter around his son.  “It seems I've just grown to realize that I really do need help around the mansion—especially with my little one growing up. So, yes, I bought two. For my own money.

 

“We both know that it’s not the money that concerns me. Even if you were in debt, I’d pay it off. A Novak shouldn’t live like a beggar,” Michael says, looking critically at Gabriel’s garments. He doesn’t give his wife a single look when he offers her his arm. “The journey was tiring, I hope that dinner will be served soon.”

 

“I’m going to need a bath beforehand,” Naomi tells Gabriel as if he was a servant. “Make sure it’s ready for me.”

 

Gabriel and Castiel wait until Michael and Naomi enter the mansion, their servant quickly following them with two suitcases, before they finally allow themselves to breath out. For the first encounter, it wasn’t all that bad but neither of them can ignore a small distressed sound Junior makes, hugging tightly onto his dad.

 

“There, there,” Gabriel murmurs to him, swaying the toddler in his arms. “It’s okay, your uncle and aunt are just tired.”

 

“They seem lovely,” Dean mutters quietly as he passes by the Novak brothers with the suitcase in his hand, throwing a look at Sam over his shoulder. “Hope they’re gone soon.”

 

“Not just you,” Castiel replies to that, equally quiet. “Could you prepare that bath for Naomi? Use as much bathing salt as possible, she always reeks of them.”

 

Dean bows in front of Castiel theatrically, giving him a cocky smirk. “Your wish is my command and pleasure, good sir,” he says with a mocking note to his voice. Then he exhales harshly and steps into the mansion, carrying the luggage with him, leaving his brother out in the snow with yet another reluctant glance.

 

Sammy, that poor boy, is still standing by the vehicle with the keys to it jingling in his trembling hands. “Their servant gave them to me,” he explains himself as if he was scared that the Novaks took on the act of masters too well. “I’ll drive the vehicle to the garage and carry on with preparing dinner afterwards.”

 

“Actually,” Castiel speaks up, “I’d like you to take care of Junior now. Dean can do the cooking, he’s usually quicker at it than you either way and we really  _ don’t _ want Michael to wait.”

 

Gabriel’s eyebrows elevate high on his forehead as he slowly faces his younger brother. “Excuse me? Is there something happening that I’m not aware of?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I just want to talk to you and I doubt you’d want your four-year-old son to be present during the conversation.”

 

There’s the slightest hint of worry sparking up in the shining gold of Gabriel’s eyes before he nods understandingly. Once he’s expressed his agreement to the plan, Sam went on to do his job while Castiel, Gabriel and Junior went back inside to shelter themselves from the seemingly never ending cold. Although they have experienced long winters before, this time it seems like the Gods themselves are share the brothers’ rather gloomy concerns about the days ahead of them. 

 

They spend a few moments in the main living room, heating up in front of the fireplace. On any other day, Junior would already be sitting on the carpet and play with the dogs; sadly, knowing about Michael’s deep dislike for animals of any kind, the pets had to be locked away in one of the rooms, waiting for either of the Winchesters to let them out into the backyard. Gabriel suspects that this is where his son’s uneasiness comes from—the dogs were his companions pretty much since the very day he was born, it’s no wonder that without them by his side, Junior is distressed. 

 

Once Sam comes back from the garage, he once more shows how well he got to know the little boy, taking  him into his arm and promising to take the dogs out into the yard before the dinner will be served. That promise finally brings a smile back to Junior’s tanned face, the toddler exclaiming happily and throwing his arms up into the air, his entire body filling up with that well-known childish energy. 

 

“Well?” Gabriel asks his younger brother once Sam and Junior walk out, the little boy’s excited chanting still echoing through the mansion. “What is it that you wanted to talk about so badly, huh?” He rests his feet on the coffee table, sitting as comfortably as he can, knowing that he’ll only be tensed once Michael and his wife are done with powdering themselves before the food.

 

Castiel takes a seat in one of the armchairs, his careful moves revealing that the stress must have caused his wound to ache again. “Stop it.”

 

Gabriel counts to ten before pressing out: “Stop what?”

 

“Stop trying to provoke Michael. And don’t say you’re not—I know you, Gabriel. We spent two days putting everything in the right order so his visit would go along perfectly smoothly, and the last thing we need now is you taunting him.”

 

“Wha- Taunting him?!” Gabriel’s feet land on the floor with a dull tap. “How the hell was I  _ taunting _ him?!”

 

“Adding that comment about the money,” Castiel explains, crossing his arms on his chest. Unlike Gabriel, he dressed up for their eldest brothers’ visit. “You know that Michael is sensitive about that—he wants us all to live at a high standard so our name doesn’t lose its face.”

 

A loud scoff jumps out of Gabriel’s throat. “Oh, really?” he says as his hands clench. “That’s, uh, that’s a new one. Last time I checked the only family member Michael cares about is Raphael, and only because the kid listens to him.”

 

“If this is about Balthazar…”

 

“No,” Gabriel presses out through gritted teeth. “No, Cas, it’s not about Balthazar. Out of all of us, he’s got it best. I thought that sending him abroad would be a sentence, but trust me, now I see that it’s a blessing. I should have let you go as well.”

 

Upon hearing that, Castiel’s expression changes from blank to shocked to hurt in a matter of a second. His lids and eyebrows arch high up, such a sadness sparking up in his endlessly blue eyes as if his older brother just hit him. “You don’t mean that.”

 

“Don’t I? If I let you go when Michael wanted to send you away, you would never have to go to the army, you would never get shot, you wouldn’t have to stay with me at your age. Especially with the way you are, you’d be better off-”

 

Castiel raises his hand to stop his brother’s rant. “You are not doing this self-loathing thing right now, Gabriel.” His voice is stable and confident. “My preferences have nothing to do with the matter we’re discussing and neither does my shoulder. Trust me, I would have gone to the army one way or another, and who knows, maybe in a different world I would be shot dead. You probably saved my life more times than you can count and that is a fact. Speaking of Balthazar, you made a choice, Gabriel. Balthazar is older, smarter, more cunning and independent than me—you knew he’d make it on his own. Me, not so much.”

 

Gabriel chuckles grimly. “Maybe,” he admits. “Maybe not. I don’t know. Neither of you should have been sent away. We’re a family.”

 

“Not in Michael’s eyes,” Castiel replies. “With Balthazar and I having a different mother than the rest of you… if it wasn’t for the name and the ring, he would treat me like a stranger.”

 

“That’s not an excuse!” Gabriel exclaims. “We have the same father! And Michael adores Raphael even though he’s adopted! Your argument doesn’t really check out.”

 

“You told me that your mother chose to adopt Raphael,” Castiel points out calmly.

 

Another gloom chuckle. “Fine, I’ll give you that.” Gabriel rubs his face tiredly, feeling stiffness in his neck. “We just can’t let Michael find out about Luce, not with how much Luce’s disowning was Michael’s doing.” Then he gets up and pats Castiel’s shoulder. “Come on, little brother. It’s almost time for dinner.”

* * *

Hey, guys :) Just wanted to chime in to say that I made two illustrations for this fic, you can see the drawing of Gabriel [here ](https://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com/post/176018699587/shamelesspromo-for-my-fanfiction)and the drawing of Castiel [here](https://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com/post/176129145302/shameless-promo-for-my-fic-vicevirtue-please-read) :) 

 


	11. x i

The dinner is served at seven in the evening sharp. Due to the weather, as well as being so far up North, the steel-grey rays of the pale sun barely make it through the thick layer of grey clouds covering the skies in a manner very similar to the snow shrouding the ground below. The main dining room is illuminated by the chandeliers hanging up from the ceiling and the flames burning high in the fireplace. However, the latter doesn’t provide any warmth as it seems to be sucked out of the room by Michael’s presence.

 

The eldest of the Novaks is seated at the top of the table with his back to the windows, Naomi sitting to the right of him. Gabriel took a place on his older brother’s left side, keeping Junior next to him while Castiel had no other choice than to sit next to Michael’s wife. The layout certainly isn’t perfect, but this is about as good as it could get—Gabriel didn’t expect Michael to let him sit on his right side, and frankly, Gabriel doesn’t even care. Junior is away from Michael and that is what counts in this situation the most. 

 

So far, Sam and Dean are playing their servant roles perfectly—Dean prepared and served the meal exactly on time while Sam was away, taking care of Junior. Once it was time for dinner, Sam sat the toddler next to his father and went away to assist Dean with bringing in  the dishes and wine. Michael’s servant helped them a little, but not nearly as much as he could have—it’s clear that the poor boy would rather not leave Michael’s side, just in case his master needs something. God forbid would Michael have a wish without his servant around.

 

“Gabriel,” Michael suddenly speaks up after barely touching his food. “Who are you building the prosthetic hand for?”

 

Castiel sees how his brother tenses on the other side of the table, his grip on the utensils tightening. “For a young war veteran,” he lies without blinking an eyes. “Do you wish to see my documentation and the letters exchanged with the man?”

 

Michael rises his cold blue eye. “I don’t think this will be necessary. You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you? I was simply curious whether your little… business is prospering well.”

 

“It is prospering well, better than you’d expect,” Gabriel states as he turns to his son and wipes a bit of mashed potatoes from Junior’s little face. “Actually, it’s doing so well I was considering taking an apprentice in. I could open another workshop if I trained someone to my level.” He smiles. “My boy would have a little engineering empire to inherit.” 

 

“Your bastard won’t get a broken mark.”

 

That sentence covers the dining room with a heavy blanket of silence. Even Naomi stops eating to observe the action unfolding in front of them—Gabriel putting his fork down with a loud clang, Michael not even batting an eye, all three of the servants holding their breaths. Was it any other day, there is not a faintest doubt in Castiel’s mind that all Hells would break loose, but with Gabriel having so many secrets, he can’t allow himself the luxury of expressing his true emotions.

 

“ _ My son _ ,” there’s a dangerous note to Gabriel’s voice, “will inherit everything I own as my rightful heir. He’s my blood.”

 

“He's a bastard.” Michael continues his meal as if they weren't at the brink of a fight. “You might call him a Novak, since you insisted on it so much, but he's not a true one. Unless you finally mature enough to wed and have legitimate children, your workshop as well as everything you own will become the family's common good after your death.” 

 

“My will, by law, is more important than your ego, Michael,” Gabriel hisses. “I own the mansion and I own the workshop. Junior will get them if I say so.”

 

As calmly as ever, Michael takes a sip of wine, not a single muscle in his face twitching to manifest any kind of emotions. He doesn't have those. “You don't own anything since you've decided to fuck a servant and produce this abomination.” His words are unbearable to listen to, each sentence echoing inside Castiel's skull like fingernails scratching on a blackboard. “I could have had you disowned like Lucifer and your bastard killed. You should be grateful that all I took was his arm and your privileges. Although, note that your rights and privileges have been returned to you, just as promised.” 

 

Gabriel's hands tremble as they curl into fists on the table, Junior tugging at his sleeve nervously. The toddler looks like he's about to cry and although he doesn't have the right to understand a word of what his uncle is speaking, it's clear that the tone is enough to upset the little one. 

 

Sam shifts in his spot, as if he’s considering what to do. He then steps away from his spot by the fireplace and walks to Junior’s chair. “Let’s go,” he says quietly to the boy, taking him into his arms despite the protests. 

 

“Nooo!” Junior exclaims, tears streaming down his plump brown cheeks, little prosthetic hand reaching out for Gabriel in a desperate gesture. “Daddy, no-oo!” 

 

“Were you told to take him away?” Michael snaps at Sam. “You’re supposed to follow your master’s orders! You aren’t to do whatever you please!”

 

“And my orders are to take care of my son!” Gabriel growls, his clenched fist hitting the table so hard that the utensils and glasses jingle. “And that includes keeping him away from such a toxic environment as the one you always create!” 

 

Dean speaks up out of the blue, his voice strong and loud. “Stop!” he yells. “For Gods’ sake, stop! You’re scaring the kid!”

 

The silence that falls after this is heavy and  thick, pooling into the dining room and quickly filling it up from the floor all the way to the ceiling, stifling even Junior’s cries. All sets of eyes present turn their gaze at Dean, beautiful dressed in an uniform, with rage on his handsome face melting into dread as the realization of his doings sets in. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows down hard, taking a cautious step back like he wants to escape. He doesn’t know that there is no escaping Michael’s wrath. But he’s about to learn it in the hard way. 

 

Michael raises up from his seat, locking his eyes on Dean like a predator on its prey. Dean seems to be a few inches taller and way more broad, but it doesn’t matter, not with how much power Michael has, not with how intimidating he is. Even after years, Castiel still remembers how unsettlingly hypnotizing those cold eyes are. 

 

“Punish him,” Michael’s words are steady and bland, shaped and polished on his tongue to leave no shade of doubt to the meaning they carry.

 

Castiel is first to react, a small “What?” leaving his chapped lips.

 

“I said, punish him.” Now the eldest Novak’s freezing gaze is on Castiel. “You heard me. This is unacceptable, a servant has no right to speak like that to any member of nobility, let alone me. Punish him, Castiel.”

 

“I- I don’t…”

 

“You don’t want to? Your humanitarianism didn’t stop you from killing during the war, so don’t act soft now. Prove that you’re a Novak, punish him.”

 

The air tastes like blood and heated sand when Castiel inhales deeply, searching for any sort of help or support in Gabriel’s face but all he gets is a small nod, encouraging him to use the little teasing device heavying in the pocket of his pants. His fingers tremble when he pulls it out, the cool metal burning the skin of his sweaty palm. The bronze circle on the top is shining dangerously in the lights of the chandelier above them. 

 

Michael rests his hands on his hips, his chin high. “What are you waiting for? Punish him.”

 

Castiel closes his eyes and keeps his breath in as he gently turns the cog of the teaser, Sam’s calming humming filling up his head. Dean lets out a choked scream, a loud thud crashing through the room when he falls down to his knees and then completely down to the floor. There’s rattling when the Winchester’s body shakes in spasms sent through his body with the electrical current generating by the metal collar forever locked around his neck.

 

“That’s enough,” Gabriel says loudly, covering Castiel’s hand with his own, turning the cog back to its original position. “That’s more than enough. The dinner is over.”

 

With his eyes still shut, Castiel can only guess that his brother stands up from his seat, takes crying Junior from Sam’s arms and storms out of the dining room, leaving the rest behind. 

 

“Unbelievable,” Naomi scoffs. “You have to cut his funds, Michael, there’s not an ounce of gratitude in your spoiled brother.”

 

Finally, Castiel dares to look at the room, Dean kneeling on the floor and breathing heavily, redness covering his neck. He looks like he has some difficulties staying conscious, tears gathering in his scared green eyes as he slowly drags himself up to his feet. This is when Castiel decides that for him, too, it is time to leave and find Gabriel. He might have just dug up his own grave. 

 

“Excuse me,” he says hoarsely, standing up from his chair. “I’ll skip the rest of the meal, but I’m sure that your servant will bring the food to you. Sam, be so kind and help your brother to his quarters. Then carry on with cleaning out the shed.”

 

Sam gives Castiel an understanding look and bows. “Yes, my sir.”

 

With that, Castiel nods at Michael and Naomi before leaving, the smell of blood still in his nose.

 

As the hours pass, Castiel becomes more and more grateful that the dinner was served late, as it means that there’s much less time he has to spend avoiding his eldest brother before he and his wife decide to rest after the long journey. Right after leaving the dining room, Castiel didn’t even try finding Gabriel and his crying son—instead he went straight to the library where he locked himself for the hours to come, accompanied only by the thick, fast rhythm of the blood roaring in his ears and spilling the metallic taste onto his tongue. He simply sits there, in an old and tattered armchair while the sun sets behind the corridor, throwing a drape of darkness over the world. 

 

Still, it isn’t until after the lights in the gardener’s house light up when Castiel decides to stand up on shaking knees, determined to have yet another conversation with Gabriel. During any other night, he would have gone to get to his brother much quicker, but with what’s happened by the dinner table, Castiel couldn’t allow himself to take the chance of stumbling across Dean. He can’t look the man in the eye—not now and probably not ever again. What has happened, what Castiel did to him is unacceptable and there is no excuse for his actions. If only he spoke the words he was so desperately trying to find, if he wasn’t so endlessly terrified of Michael, maybe then Dean wouldn’t have to suffer. 

 

_ Too much heart _ .

 

He shouldn’t be so shaken, Castiel thinks to himself as he slowly leaves the darkened library, making sure to lock the door on his way out. He has done things far more horrible than teasing a person for a few seconds, back when he was just a child pulled into the army by the law. He’s killed, he’s lied, he’s indirectly caused many families to suffer the losses of their sons. But back then, Castiel thought he was doing the right thing, even if the thought of if left a strange taste on his tongue. He thought that he’s defending his country, that he goes to the army to prevent his other brothers from doing so. Now, knowing how many traumatic experiences Dean has gone through, and how his action and talking back to Michael was caused by nothing but the kindness of his heart… that’s much harder to swallow. 

 

The mansion is quiet as a grave when the tapping of Castiel’s shoes is swallowed by the carpets covering the hallway floor, his hand sliding across the wallpapers as if to look for support for his weak legs. He makes his way down the stairs, through the mansion and to the back of it until finally the plush rugs end and the sound of his soles meeting the hardwood is as loud in the dead of the night a thunders crashing during a storm. Even when he opens the door of the workshop uninvited, the sound it makes appears to be more similar to a huge tree falling over rather than a crack of old wood. 

 

“Gabriel, we…” Castiel begins but his voice trails off as he sees the strangest scene before his eyes— Gabriel and Sam leaning out of their stools to grab each other in a tight hug. As soon as Castiel speaks, the two break the embrace, a bright blush burning up on Sam’s face while all that seems to be on Gabriel’s is irritation. Castiel has a funny feeling that he has just witnessed something he shouldn’t have. But… Gabriel isn’t like  _ that _ , is he?

 

“What do you want, Cas?” Gabriel asks in an unusually harsh manner, turning back to the workbench before him, where some papers and a book are displayed. “We’re kinda busy here. I was jus’ teaching Sammy about engineering.” 

 

Castiel squinches his blue eyes. “I… see,” he says slowly as he steps in, tension building up in his neck. He can’t look at Sam either, he’s tortured his brother mere hours ago. “I, I wanted to talk to you.”

 

Gabriel slides his glasses back up to the top of his head as he usually does. “About?”

 

Castiel breathes out. “The same thing I asked of you this afternoon,” he states. “I asked you to not taunt Michael or you’d put all of us on a stake. You don’t seem to understand that we’re in real danger, Gabriel. And this time it can end up much worse than taking your noble privileges away.”

 

“What do you think I was supposed to do? Just let that smug-ass bitch sit there and talk about my son in that manner?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel says. “This is exactly what I think you were supposed to do, you were supposed to grit your teeth and sit there and listen to what Michael says, in the exact same manner you sat there and listened when he called me a faithless, disgusting abomination.”

 

That causes Gabriel to suck in a sharp breath, and Castiel knows that he’s just touched on a sensitive subject, one that pains Gabriel up to this day, but it seems that gentle pleas won’t work. If Castiel wants all of them to see the day of Michael’s leaving, someone has to remind Gabriel that this isn’t one of his games anymore. All of them are in real, tangible danger.

 

Sam shifts uncomfortably on his place, fidgeting with a pen. “Uhm, I- I don’t understand,” he mumbles shyly. “Why would your brother…?”

 

“Because I prefer men’s company,” Castiel replies to that smoothly, his eyelids not even twitching as he says that. “I’m not interested in women and Michael finds it rather troubling. He thinks that it would bring dishonour to our family’s name if anyone was to find out, hence he’s rather not fond of me.” 

 

“Oh,” Sam mutters, looking down at his hands. “I, uh, I understand. I don’t think there is anything wrong with it, though.”

 

“Neither do I,” Gabriel throws in, tapping against the table with the back of a fountain pen. “You know what makes the whole difference, though?” he asks, his voice raising with each sentence. Only now Castiel smells whiskey in the air. “The fact that no matter how repulsed he is by you, he still considers you a family. Because you’re Dad’s son. Because you have his eyes. Because you look so  _ awfully _ similar to Michael. Because your mum was a noblewoman, even if Michael despised her.”

 

Castiel sighs, running a hand through his thick dark hair. “You’re letting your emotions impair your judgement,” he speaks softly. “No matter what Michael thinks of Junior, he still remains your son. He’s your blood and nothing Michael says can change that. He will grow up as a nobleman.”

 

The books and papers go flying up in the air when Gabriel tosses them off the table, the stool banging against the floor as it’s knocked over. 

 

“No, he won’t!” Gabriel’s voice shakes when he yells. “He won’t ‘cause Michael chipped him! He chipped  _ my boy! _ ”

* * *

 

Please check out [my Tumblr](http://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com)!! :) 


	12. x i i

The sun has already set when Dean leaves the mansion via the backdoor, walking through the piles of snow toward the gardener’s house, standing quietly with its slightly lit up windows at the edge of the property. The sky has cleared up, showing the moon and stars, giving a hope for the spring to come soon. Sadly, here in the North, the weather is more unpredictable than anywhere else and winters lasting as long as six months have become a norm many years ago. However, during this winter Dean has nothing to complain about. He has high boots and a thick coat, he has a warm room and a bed with real feathery covers, as well as a full stomach and access to even more food, should he wish to have the seconds. During all twenty-two years of his miserable existence, Dean has never had as many luxuries in his life as he has now—he could even say that it’s perfect.

 

Well, it would be if it wasn’t for the metal collar and a dull, burning pain pulsating in his neck. 

 

Without a doubt, Sam and Dean could have never gotten into better hands than the ones of Gabriel and Castiel Novak. Those two brothers act nothing like any nobleman Dean has ever met before—they ask instead of giving orders, they let the Winchester brothers eat with them at the table, they got them anything they could possibly need, they give them frequent breaks and time just for themselves, as well as let them into nearly every room in the entire mansion. During one of the many conversations Dean has had with Castiel when everyone else was asleep, he came to a simple conclusion: the Novaks, and especially the younger one, are way too kind for their own good. 

 

Or at least so did Dean think before he was zapped during the dinner, not only causing the pain to rip through every fiber of his body but also a flood of memories from the times when he was held before the auction to come back. Needless to say, Dean did everything he could to actively avoid seeing Castiel this day. Maybe he knows that, given their circumstances, Castiel had no other choice but to zap Dean after he snapped, but that doesn’t change the fact that Dean just… doesn’t want to talk to Castiel right now. They might be friends, but he’s not strong enough to handle a conversation with someone who sent an electric current through his body, no matter the reasons behind it. 

 

Is he a bad person because of that? No, of course not. He’s a bad person for many different reasons but needing time alone to process his deep-seated trauma isn’t one of them. Of course, Dean would rather bite his fingers off than admit that he has unresolved issues, but well, if he can, he will use it to avoid talking to Castiel. All he wants right now is to fall down on the couch that’s going to be his bed for the following days and pass out. This day has dragged on for too long already.

 

He is just about to enter the gardener’s house when he freezes with his hand on the doorknob, surprised by the joyos voices and laughter coming from the inside.

 

“Oh, come on, Cain!” he hears Lucifer’s rough voice, amusement ringing in his words. “You look like shit and you probably feel like shit. Just stay in bed and wait until you get better.”

 

There is shuffling before Cain speaks up. “Don’t make excuses, Luce. You promised me there would be a dance and I can’t get out of the practice.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that being on antibiotics and losing half a limb isn’t an excuse.”

 

“We’ll switch sides,” Cain replies. “You’ll hold me up if I fall over.”

 

“Hold you up? You’re a pretty big guy, you know?”

 

“Last time I’ve checked, you were the chubby one.”

 

“Oi!”

 

Dean pulls the door open and looks inside, his eyebrows drawn together as he sees what in the fresh Hells is happening. Cain and Lucifer are both standing in the little space there is between the bed, the table and the oven. The stump of Cain’s forearm, with the metal base on top of it, is resting against Lucifer’s waist, while Lucifer’s hand is on Cain’s shoulder. Their other hands are held together, fingers intertwined and for the first time, Dean notices a silver band on Lucifer’s left ring finger. 

 

He blinks a few time, shutting the door behind him as he steps in. “Uhm, what the fuck are you two doing?”

 

The two men give him a startled look as they step back from each other, their hands lingering on one another for a moment before finally letting go.

 

“Dean,” Cain greets him, stepping further back until the backs of his shins meet the frame of the bed and he sits down. “I, uh… this is embarrassing.” He scratches his neck. “Lucifer promised me to let me teach him how to slow dance a while ago.”

 

“Ah,” Dean mutters like this explanation isn’t fishy at all. “A nobleman who can’t slow dance? Yes, that makes a lot of sense.”

 

Lucifer rolls his light blue eyes behind his strong glasses. “Try not attending any social gatherings or parties for fourteen years and still remember the steps after all this time.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m basically a peasant now. Disgusting.”

 

Dean decides to let this comment just fly over his head. Lucifer isn’t pleasant to be around and the last thing Dean needs during this evening to have a fight with someone. “Whatever,” he just mutters, looking over at the plates, bowls and jars covering the surface of the crooked table. “You still got some of that green stuff?”

 

“You mean the balm for burns?” Cain kicks off his boots and pulls his legs back onto the narrow bed, the pallid shade of his face clearly indicating that dancing really isn’t an activity for someone in his state. “I’ve used all that was left this afternoon. But I’m sure that if you ask Castiel…”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Dean quickly cuts him off, grabbing a piece of cheese from a plate and stuffing it into his mouth. He notices the two men exchanging looks behind his back and nearly feels the questions rising.  He has to quickly turn their attention somewhere else. “So, Lucifer,” Dean accosts, pointing at the Novak. “That’s a cool ring, where’d you get it?”

 

There is a perilous blaze burning up in Lucifer’s pale eyes, his gaze not even flickering to his hand. “It was a gift,” he says instead but tension in those words is noticeable.

 

Another piece of cheese finds its way to Dean’s mouth. Good, they’re not talking about his burns. “Nice gift. Who from?”

 

“What are you on about, Winchester?” Lucifer turns towards Dean, his posture threatening. He might have went through a lot but he still remains a tall and broad man, one that would no doubt give Dean some bruises in a fight. It’s better not to engage in this.

 

“Jeez, I’m just asking!” Dean raises his hands up. “No need to get that defensive. I can definitely see who Cas got it from.”

 

Lucifer’s thin eyebrow arches. “Cas?” he echoes. “You are  _ that _ close with my brother?”

 

Dean’s cheeks heat up. “You are  _ that _ close with Cain?”

 

“Watch your tone!”

 

“Luce!” Cain cuts into the conversation, clearly being  the only one who remembers that they aren’t supposed to make any noise. “Leave it. I think we’re all tired. It’s late, we should… we should all just calm down and go to sleep.”

 

Taking one last piece of cheese, Dean just shrugs, feeling anger boiling under his skin and thickening his hot blood. “Whatever,” he just grunts, leaving to where the couch stands. This day was way, way too long.

 

*

 

The sensation Gabriel’s words give Sam is very similar to falling into a frigid lake during the winter. He was a child back then, barely nine years old when he overestimated the durability of the sheet of ice covering the lake near their little house. He was walking through the white plate, sliding happily like children do when he heard a crack and then he was already plummeting down into the icy water. Sam could swim since he was five years old but when he fell into the cold embrace, he suddenly couldn’t move. It was as if the freezing water poured into his body and bones—immobilizing him—and into his head—leaving space for nothing but panic.

 

Dean fished him out just seconds later, scolding him and yelling for being so irresponsible and reckless—he could have died if Dean wasn’t keeping an eye for him all this time. Dean held Sam while he cried on the frozen lake, their bodies shivering violently from the cold.  Perhaps it was just seconds of being underwater, but it felt like forever and Sam remembers every fraction of second of it. He remembers the way the winter’s sun hit the water and ice, shining into his eyes as the hole he fell into kept floating further and further away from the reach of his small, chubby hands. 

 

In this very moment, Sam feels exactly the same way as he did when he was drowning in the lake—confused, helpless and  _ cold _ . There is ice in Sam’s stomach, his throat and his veins as the puzzle pieces slowly but surely jump into their places. Gabriel buying a servant—Sam—young and tall and strong. Gabriel clearly being upset over Dean being here as well. Gabriel not letting Junior spend too much time with Sam. Gabriel keeping his strange distance, yet being kind at the same time.

 

Sam is his guinea pig.

 

_ Stupid _ .

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Oh, Gods, Sam is so, so endlessly stupid and  _ naive _ for believing that he and Dean were safe here! That they could live their lives in this mansion peacefully, enjoying a belly full of food and a warm bed! That Gabriel actually  _ cared _ about him! He should have seen it coming from the start, that there are some hidden motives, that there is a goal Sam is a tool to achieve, that Gabriel would  _ never _ truly feel anything for him. Oh, Gods.

 

“What?” Castiel’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel. “What do you mean, Junior is chipped?!”

 

“What the fuck do you think I mean?!” Gabriel throws his arms into the air, sending a screwdriver into the air. “I mean that my boy— _ my boy— _ has a fucking chip behind his ear! That he’s monitored, tracked and he’s gonna be sold when he turns eighteen!”

 

The world comes back into focus. There are still tears in Sam’s eyes, as well as the feeling of betrayal stinging his stomach painfully, but he can’t ignore what he’s hearing. “W-what?”

 

Gabriel exhales harshly, running a hand through his hair, knocking his glasses off his head. He doesn’t seem to mind. “Michael chipped Junior so he can sell him as a servant when he comes of age.” His voice sounds like he’s about to sob. “You know the law. Children… children are untouchable. They’re protected by the law, and by their parents or legal guardians. Junior is mine until he turns eighteen, but then… then I can’t protect him anymore. He’s got a chip, and there’s nothing I could possibly do about it, I…”

 

Castiel steps closer to his brother but he makes no attempt of touching him. Sam knows that Gabriel would just slap Castiel’s hand away. “Why… why did you never tell me? Junior is my nephew!”

 

“Why didn’t I?” Gabriel scoffs a humourless chuckle. “Why didn’t I tell you about that? Look at yourself, Cas! You’re a goddamn mess! It’s been four years,  _ four years _ , and you’re still reliving your trauma from the army! You barely eat, you don’t talk, you spend days at end locked alone in  the library! And what did you want me to do, put even more of this weight on you?”

 

“I…” Castiel flinches away, taking a few steps back. Then his eyebrows scrunch before rising up high, realization burning up on his face. “Gabriel?  _ Why _ did you buy servants?  _ Why _ did you want to get a servant?”

 

There is no response for a long while, and it only confirms Sam’s suspicions. This is why he’s here, this is why Gabriel was so nice to him, this is why they get whatever they want. Gabriel simply wanted to buy their trust and loyalty so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for cutting into a eighteen-year-old. Hell, so the eighteen-year-old would  _ want _ to let him cut into him. And the worst part?

 

It worked.

 

When Sam speaks up, his voice is rough and cracking like he didn’t have a drop of water in days. “You needed to understand how the chip is implanted, didn’t you? You needed to know how it’s connected to the nerves so… so you can remove it from Junior’s neck? That’s… that’s why you were so nice to us. Made us feel like you actually care about-”

 

“Don’t,” Gabriel snaps at him. “Don’t you dare to make me into some sort of a monster, not for wanting to save my son.” He doesn’t raise his voice but his tone is still dangerously threatening. “I treated you the way I did because you and your brother are godsdamned human beings. And  _ you _ should know that I would  _ never _ do anything without a clear  _ consent _ .”

 

Sam’s cheeks burn up upon hearing that, embarrassment and a wave of guilt washing over his body. That… that’s correct. Sam very much doubts that Gabriel would ever do anything Sam—or Dean—wouldn’t want. He also doubts that Gabriel would pressure himself into being nice to someone just to achieve his goal… it feels wrong to think that, but Sam understands. If he was in this situation, and it was his loved one chipped and threatened to be sold away, Sam would have done everything to save them. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know if he would even have as much patience and kindness as Gabriel does.

 

“Okay,” Sam just says.

 

“Okay?” Castiel repeats.

 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll let you do this,” he looks at Gabriel. “On me, on my chip. I’ll let you check how it works.”

 

Castiel steps in between them. “No!” He steps in between Sam and Gabriel, looking at the Winchester as if he lost his mind. “Are you mad?! There is a rule to never intervene with the chips for a reason! It’s dangerous! Have you never heard of those poor souls who had their brain electrocuted because they were trying to either remove the chip or the collar?”

 

Sam swallows down. “Cain’s chip is inactive.”

 

“Yes, because he was shot in the neck and it’s a miracle he’s still alive!”

 

Sam stands up, determined. “I want to do this. I want Gabriel to do this,” he states. “This, I… this is the least I can do after all the kindness and hospitality you’ve given me. I’m a slave!” He points at his collar. “You could just strap me to a worktable and do it against my will! Besides…” He bites his lip. “I love the little guy. Just as much as I love Dean. I… I don’t want anything bad to happen to him—especially when I know I can help.”

 

“It’s dangerous,” Castiel tries to reason, desperation growing in his voice. Sam feels bad for saying no to him, Castiel became almost like his brother during his time in the Novak mansion.

 

“I know.” Sam straightens his back. “And I’m going to take the risk.”

* * *

 

Hey, guys :)) I made another art for the fic, you can see it [here](https://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com/post/176562523887/as-you-probably-know-by-now-im-writing-a) :)) How many of you caught the Lucain clue? ;)


	13. x i i i

 

heya, please check out [this](https://iamkathastrophe.tumblr.com/post/176851123562/these-took-a-while-but-here-they-are-6-icons-of) post to see what the characters look like in the fic :)) 

* * *

 

The silence that takes over the room once Castiel leaves is nauseating. Not only did Gabriel just lose all the trust his little brother and Sam had in him—he’s probably made himself to look like a monster in their eyes as well. Even though he truly feels and believes that what he was doing—what he is going to do—served a greater good, there’s still an unpleasant lump heavying in Gabriel’s stomach as he looks at the door Castiel went through. As much as Gabriel would like to deny it, the fact remained that his little brother was in it as well. Since the beginning, he was trying to keep it a secret from Castiel, to not pull him into this mess Gabriel was creating around himself in the desperate attempts to be able to flee the country. In all of this haze, he forgot that Castiel was—and still is—always here, always a part of it. Perhaps, if he was honest about it, Castiel would never give him that betrayed, hurt look.

 

Who knows, maybe if Gabriel kept it crystal clear all along, they would be gone to the West a long, long time ago, leading a happy and carefree life in a country where there’s no class system, no family rings, no enslavement, no prejudice. Sadly, what is done is done and there is nothing he could possibly do to change the constantly changing situation he is personally responsible for. 

 

Not all is lost, though. Not with Sammy being the precious, kind-hearted and brave boy he is. There is no doubt that if any other person was here to be put in the Winchester’s position, they would refuse all and every form of cooperation—and that would be nothing surprising. Sammy must feel betrayed now, hurt and used and all,  _ all _ of it is solely Gabriel’s fault. Most likely, there’s nothing he could possibly do to repay Sammy the damage. But, honestly, should he be thinking about this  _ now _ , of all times? Now that his secret is out, there’s not more excuses to drag the research in time. If anything, he should be glad that he can finally get to work, that he…

 

“Gabriel?”

 

A pair of golden eyes meets hazel when Gabriel is pushed back into the sickening reality of his cold workshop. The snow is falling silently outside, sticking to the windows and dimming the orange-tinted light from the outside. Sammy is standing a few feet away with his eyebrows drawn together in worry. He’s holding a pair of glasses in his hand. 

 

“You’re going to need those,” he states plainly like Gabriel’s slight meltdown never happened. “It’s already bad, we don’t need a blind Novak in the mix.” He smiles a little, a reassuring quirk of his lips. This boy is impossible.

 

Gabriel binks a few times in confusion before he finally takes his glasses out of Sam’s hand and slides them up onto his nose. Thank Gods they aren’t cracked—there are no spare pairs laying around and the ophthalmologists can take weeks to make an appointment, let alone the time of awaiting before the glasses are done. 

 

“Thanks, Sammy,” Gabriel sighs as he flops down onto the nearest stool by his workbench, the weight of the conversation they’ve just had settling down on his shoulders and pulling him deeper into the dense, burning water of stress. “Listen… I, I don’t know what you want to hear or what I should say. Frankly, I’ve got no idea. No excuses.”

 

“I didn’t ask for any,” Sam replies, sitting down next to Gabriel. His voice is calm but his eyes are sad and blank. “I’m not saying that it was okay, but… I can see why you did that,” he admits. “It’s not like you’re some crazy scientist planning on messing around with chips for the kicks of it. You just wanted to save your son.”

 

A strong blow of cold air throws little pieces of hail against the window, rattling filling up the room. “Yeah. Just.” Gabriel takes a screw from the table and taps it against the wood. “And in the process I neglected my little brother more than I ever should. The kid won’t believe a single word I say now, and Hells, I can’t blame him for that. I’m a bad father, worse brother and certainly a terrible person.” He swallows. “I don’t want you to agree to let me intervene with your chip because you pity me, Sam. I…”

 

Sammy doesn’t let him continue. “What the fuck are you talking about, Gabe?”

 

It’s the first time Gabriel hears Sammy swear or speak in a tone other than entirely polite. His eyes widen with surprise as the Winchester crosses his arms on his chest, determination painted over his tired features. 

 

“You’re a great father, a great brother and a good person,” Sammy carries on. “If you don’t want me to pity you then cut off this self-loathing shit. Gods, you’re worse than Dean sometimes.” He sighs. “I want you to try to get my chip out. I… I don’t really have anything to lose. I’m a slave, Gabriel, no matter how well you treat me and my brother. If there’s a chance I can be free again—and help someone while we’re at it—then I’m ready. Just… what happens then? Say you get it out, what happens?”

 

The Novak exhales slowly. “Well,” he stutters out, still slightly blazed away by this sudden speech. “I, uh… Cassie and I have yet another brother. He’s lived abroad since he was ten. I’m going to contact him, ask him to help us cross the border. I want to leave this whole country to Hells and get out. Take Cas and Jay-Jay… and Lucifer and Cain, ‘cause those two lovebirds surely don’t wanna stay in here.”

 

“Can we go with you?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Dean and I.” Sammy bites on his lip. “Can we… can we go with you? There’s nowhere for us to go and I… I don’t want to leave you.”

 

Gabriel nods slowly. “Yeah. Of course, Sammy.” 

 

There’s a smile, a true honest smile lighting up the Winchester’s face. There’s an adorable dimple forming in his cheek. “Great,” he hums, the tension finally disappearing from the cramped space. “So, uhm… it’s pretty late already, so I guess we’re gonna start first thing tomorrow?”

 

“That sounds about right,” Gabriel agrees, letting a hand brush over his hair. He’s exhausted. 

 

Before Sam gets up from his spot to leave, he seems to be battling with some thought, nibbling down on his bottom lip. “Uhm, Gabriel?” he mutters shyly.

 

“What’s that, kiddo?”

 

Just like that, Sam leans from the stool he’s sitting at, hands wandering up to Gabriel’s bearded cheeks as he presses an awkward, but oh so sweet, kiss to Gabriel’s lips. It lasts a few shorts seconds, surprisingly long enough for Gabriel to go from shocked and stiff to melting. “Goodnight, Gabe.”

 

“Yeah, goodnight, Sammy.”

  
  


The next day, Gabriel very skilfully avoids participating in breakfast, simply by having one of the Winchesters bring the food up to Junior’s bedroom. He cannot deny that he feels somewhat guilty for leaving Castiel at Michael’s mercy, but Castiel is a grown man—he’s able to handle Michael’s unbearable attitude much better than a scared toddler. Around nine, Dean stepped into Junior’s bedroom with a grumpy face and his neck still slightly reddened from the yesterday’s teasing. It seems like he hasn’t asked Castiel for a balm for burn and hasn’t spoken to him at all—at least that’s what Gabriel concludes from Dean deliberately avoiding all questions about what’s happening downstairs.

 

Dear Gods, may Michael leave the mansion soon.

 

When the afternoon arrives, and Gabriel is still avoiding his eldest brother, Castiel comes upstairs to take care of Junior while Gabriel works on the prosthetic hand Cain still needs. If it wasn’t for all of the things happening lately and the mess in his head, he would have had this finished a long time already. He’s just eternally grateful for the winter break at Castiel’s university—Gods know that Gabriel wouldn’t manage on his own.

 

Since the last night, Gabriel has began thoroughly planning the procedures and experiments he knows he can perform on the chip without hurting Sam in the process. There are many things he has to take into account, a lot of variables to consider, but above all, he has to be careful. Once a collar is clasped around one’s neck, it becomes one with the chip and intervening with one or the other can lead into the main alert system going off and generating an electric current strong enough to stop one’s heart. How did Cain manage to have his chip destroyed without dying—that remains a mystery, and one that Gabriel will surely have to look into closer in order to be able to successfully take Sam’s chip out. 

 

One of the few things he knows for sure is that this system is somehow connected to the nerves—if it wasn’t, the whole shocking system wouldn’t work. All the servants are always sedated when the chips are implanted so there is no point in asking anyone how these things work either. All there is to do is experiment and hope for the best. Sam is big and strong, he should get through whatever happens, even if he gets teased a little here and there. Of course, Gabriel is not fond of the perspective of having his young love interest hurt in anyway, but this is the only way.

 

Sammy… the boy is so, so sweet and precious that simply thinking about him makes Gabriel’s stomach feel like there’s a swarm of butterflies swirling inside, tickling from the other side of his skin. He hasn't felt this way since Kali was executed and he didn't expect to feel this ever again, but here he is now—with feelings for an eighteen-year-old. There are many things that make it seem wrong: the ten years of age gap, the fact that Sam is still enslaved, the way Gabriel kept his secrets hidden. 

 

Nevertheless, at this point in his life he knows that sometimes you just have to embrace your feelings—especially when they're reciprocated.

 

That isn't even of import now. Gabriel can't hide in his workshop forever—he will undoubtedly have to be present at the dinner table and he hopes to have at least the wrist of the prosthetic hand done by then. If he's ready with the wrist today, he'll just have to build three more fingers, put it all together and it'll be finally done. At least one of his problems will be gone. 

 

Just as he's about to connect some if the wires, there's knocking at the workshop’s door and—not waiting for any kind of response—Michael steps in.

 

“It is about the time we spoke, brother,” he announces. 

 

Gabriel slides his glasses up onto the top of his head as he shifts the golden gaze of his eyes from the parts to Michael.he very much doesn't appreciate disrupting his private space in this manner. “Spoke? About what exactly?” 

 

Michael steps closer to the work bench but he doesn't seem to be willing to sit down on one of the dirty stools. “I have an offer to make, Gabriel. One I believe to be in our best interest.”

 

“Our?” Gabriel knows that teasing, taunting or generally being in any way impolite to Michael is a rather poor idea, especially given that they haven’t talked to each other for nearly twenty-four hours after that bastard made Junior cry, but there is simply no way Gabriel is capable of talking to his eldest brother in any other way now. “I have a funny feeling that whatever you call our best interest is, in fact,  _ your _ best interest, brother mine.”

 

“You’re free to think whatever you wish to think, Gabriel, but whatever I do, I do it for the good of our family.”

 

Gabriel puts down the pliers and pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly. “What family?” he asks, a sad note in his voice. “There’s hardly any family left. You live somewhere in the capital, Lucifer is disowned and Gods know where, I haven’t seen Raphael in ten years, Balthazar lives abroad and I rarely see Castiel even though we live in the same building. We’re not a family, Mika, we’re just a bunch of strangers with the same kind of ring.”

 

There’s a strange expression going through Michael’s face, some sort of tension before it fades back into emptiness. “We share the name and blood.”

 

“It doesn’t really matter.”

 

“Yes, it does. We have the same father, Gabriel, we are a family.”

 

“Is that so?” Gabriel rests his elbows on the workbench. “This whole father-blood thing somehow didn’t stop you from disowning Lucifer, did it?”

 

That tension again. “Lucifer left me no other choice,” the eldest of the Novaks finally breathes out, tips of his ears turning red from cold fury buzzing inside of him. “He’s a nobody. He was bringing nothing but shame to our name, he left me no other choice but to let him go. Don’t treat me like a monster, Gabriel, I let him take his share of money and his belongings before leaving the family house. Either way, Lucifer is not what I want to speak to you about.”

 

The pliers are in Gabriel’s hand again as he puts his glasses back on and returns to work, not giving his brother another look. “And what would that be, huh?” he asks with fake interest. “As you can see, I’m pretty busy at the moment.”

 

Michael pulls out one of the stools and sits across the workbench, his hands resting on the ragged wooden surface. “I have an offer to make for you. One I’m quite certain you will be interested in.” Without waiting for a reaction from Gabriel’s side, he continues. “As you know, preserving the bloodline is very important to me, to us. No matter how much I appreciate Raphael, he’s still just an adopted son, his children don’t count as eligible heirs of the Novak name. I’m thirty-six already and, trust me, I have tried for many years but it has become quite clear that I’m not able to have offspring of my own.”

 

“I know how much you care for this bastard of yours, but he’s just that—a bastard. He’s not fit to carry out our legacy. I know that you still want to keep him despite that… so I’m bringing you an offer. I will have your bastard de-chipped. He will be free to stay at your mansion, carry out with education. For all I care, you can even teach him to become an engineer like yourself, since I will not allow him into our company. Of course, I want something in return.”

 

Gabriel licks over his chapped lips as he slowly, very slowly puts the pliers down and looks up into Michael’s cold blue eyes. “And what would that be?” he asks carefully.

 

“I want at least two, pure-blooded heirs to the Novak name born from legitimate, proper marriages. You’re twenty-eight, Gabriel, you should have been married for a long time already. I will even let choose your wife, as long as she comes from a good family and you have a son together.”

 

“A son?” Gabriel echoes. “One son? Then why did you…”

 

“Castiel,” Michael explains. “He’s a Novak as well, he has to have an heir since I’m not able to.”

 

There’s a snort forcing its way out from between Gabriel’s lips. “Cas? You expect  _ Cas _ to get a wife? Mika, you know him, he doesn’t…”

 

Michael cuts him out. “I could not care less about our brother’s sick preferences. He’s a nobleman, it is his duty to produce an heir and raise him to carry out our family’s legacy. These are my terms, Gabriel. Two heirs in exchange for your bastard. Think about it.”

 

Not a single muscle in Gabriel’s body twitches until he hears the slam of the shutting door.

* * *

 


	14. x i v

Michael and his wife stay at the mansion for another seven days and, very much to Castiel’s disappointment, during this time Dean doesn’t speak a single word to him. As much as the youngest of the Novaks would like to be mad at the man whom he considered his friend, there’s a voice at the back of his head repeating over and over again that Dean has every right to be unwilling to have a conversation with Castiel. Yes, there was no choice for Castiel to be made other than to tease Dean like Michael wanted to, but abuse remains abuse no matter the motivations behind it. 

 

During those seven days, Castiel has repeatedly tried to spark up a conversation with Dean—should it be when they stumbled across each other in one of the many hallways or when Dean brought a tray with afternoon tea to the greenhouse. Not even once did the Winchester reply anything to Castiel’s vain attempts to be on good terms again. If anything, Castiel simply wishes that Dean would listen to him, listen to his apologies and explained thoroughly that there was no choice for him left but to do what Michael wanted. If he didn’t, Gods only know what would have happened. Perhaps the eldest would even discover what all of them are trying to desperately hide. 

 

As if that wasn’t enough to put Castiel in a mood worse than usual, due to the slowly changing weather, his hurt shoulder is aching constantly and, ah yes, he doesn’t speak to Gabriel either. He still cannot believe what Gabriel was—still is—going to do, cannot believe the motives his older brother had behind purchasing servants. For a brief period, Castiel truly believed that maybe Gabriel just needed help with managing the household now that Junior is getting bigger and he demands more attention while the workshop proposers better than ever, a wave of clients coming whenever an army party comes back home from over the seas. But no. Of course not. Of course Gabriel had his own, hidden motives; of course he would never mention anything to Castiel; of course he had his own hidden agenda.

 

Of course he would lie.

 

And Michael… well, saying that the eldest of the Novaks brother openly shows dislike for Castiel wouldn’t do the justice to the cold that seems to radiate from the man whenever he turns his blue eyes at Castiel, whenever he speaks or has to acknowledge Castiel’s existence in any way. Michael had a distaste for him ever since they were children—it took Castiel many years to realize that the reason as to why his brother didn’t like him so much was simply because they were born from two different mothers. It wasn’t until Castiel was deployed to the army when Michael has somewhat accepted that they belong to the same family, but even that didn’t stop him from nasty comments and putting Castiel down whenever an occasion arose. 

 

In the midst of all of this mess, it seems like Junior is the only person somewhat unaffected by the things going around him—Gods may bless the childish inattentiveness. Yes, during the first day Michael did make the toddler cry, but since then Gabriel and Sam did his best to comfort Junior as much as it’s possible and it seems that they’ve succeeded. After giving most of Sam’s chores to the servant Michael and Naomi brought along for their visit, the younger Winchester could focus on taking care of Gabriel’s son, playing with him and taking him away from the room whenever Michael or his wife came in. 

 

Somehow, it appears that Michael has manages to keep his attitude at bay for the most part and it isn’t long before he will finally leave. One could say that the things are at peace, and Castiel would agree to that, if it wasn’t for the fact that Dean doesn’t speak to him and there’s no way or occassion to apologize. 

 

At least, that’s what Castiel thought until one night, way past midnight, he’s decided to make the trip downstairs to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a small snack. Dean is supposed to sleep in the gardener’s house to have an excuse for the oven burning up there and lighting up the windows, but this night, Castiel finds the Winchester sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of what seems to be wine and and a glass. 

 

Upon seeing that, Castiel immediately freezes in his spot, the muscles at the back of his neck tensing with anxiety. He doesn’t want to upset Dean even more but he’s really,  _ really _ hungry. 

 

It’s too late to back off now—Dean is already looking back at him over his shoulder. “Evening, Cas,” he rasps. “Fancy a drink?”

 

“I, uh…” Castiel stutters. “I don't want to bother you, Dean. I'm just hungry, that's all. I'll be gone in a minute.” With that being said, Castiel quickly makes his way over to the pantry where he grabs a piece of ham and a few bread rolls before setting it all down on the kitchen counter. Three minutes and he's out.

 

“I'm not mad at you, you know,” Dean suddenly speaks up.

 

Castiel's hands still in their movement. “Excuse me?” He turns around on his heels.

 

Dean sighs deeply, tapping his glass of wine against the scraped surface of the table. “I'm not mad at you,” he repeats. “For the zapping. I know you had to. I'm mad at myself.” 

 

“I don't understand,” Castiel admits, completely honest, blinking with confusion. He doesn't have the finest idea what Dean could possibly mean by that, after actively avoiding him for a week. It begins to seem like some sort of a cruel joke, so much so that Castiel expects Dean to break into sick laughter at any point. But he doesn’t. He just continues to talk as he pours more wine into his glass. 

 

“I’m mad at myself, Cas, not you. You told us to stay quiet and act like servants, and you were right in doing so. Sammy and I—we’re supposed to behave like slaves and slaves don’t talk back to their masters, nor do they criticize their behaviour. I just… I got so angry, man.” Dean takes a massive gulp of the liquor. “The kid, he was so scared. He didn’t know what was happening! And, and Gabriel and Michael just kept going and going… like they didn’t know the kid was still there.”

 

Slowly, Castiel lets go of the knife he was just about to use to cut the bread rolls in half and cautiously steps over to the table Dean is sitting at. It’s only in the dim lights of the kitchen that he realizes how tired the Winchester looks—his skin is getting an unhealthy yellowish shade, there are circles around his eyes and he certainly hasn’t seen a razor in more than a week. For whatever reason, Gabriel and Michael making Junior cry all those days prior shook him to the core.

 

He seats down by Dean’s side. “I… I wish I had as much courage as you do,” Castiel speaks quietly, looking down at his hands. His thumb is still stained with dark ink—something that always happens when he studies for way too long. “Michael… he scares everyone, especially me. I wouldn’t be able to stand up in that situation, but you did, despite knowing that there’d be a punishment awaiting you for insubordination. That’s… frankly, that’s admirable.”

 

“There’s nothing admirable about that,” Dean scoffs, turning the glass in his hand, looking at the remains of wine at the bottom of it. “That’s just… that’s just the way older brothers are, you know. I don’t know about you, but Sammy and I, we’ve always only got each other. I had to take care of him. Raise him, pretty much. This, uh, protective attitude kinda stays with you, even when it shouldn’t.” 

 

“Don’t let the numerous siblings fool you,” Castiel smiles softly, but it’s not a joyous smile, rather a sad and nostalgic one. “I’ve only had Gabriel. The rest… well, we’re not a real family. We just have the same name.”

 

Dean hiccups. “That’s kinda depressing.” He empties the glass. “I thought that you all noble people have happy lives with all the money and luxuries and privileges.” He looks at Castiel. “Turns out you’re poorer than a ragged family from the slums.”

 

Castiel can’t do anything but nod at that. That… that is true. No matter how badly he would like to deny it—Dean is speaking the truth and the pity on his face, emerging from the pretended indifference, makes it sting even worse. Castiel might have grown up in a house full of servants and luxuries, with all the food, books, clothing, toys and everything he could possibly wish for, but what does it truly matter if he was among strangers who were supposed to be his family? In this one, very important department, it truly does seem that the noblemen are the poorest among all of the classes established by the government. 

 

He looks into Dean’s green eyes—the eyes he’s grown so fond of during the past months—and all he sees there is sadness. But there’s something more, something else, something Castiel can’t quite decypher and he doesn’t even have time for that, because before he finds a response to Dean’s statement, they are already kissing and Dean’s lips are warm and soft and so  _ alive _ against Castiel’s own.

 

If asked, Castiel wouldn’t be able to tell which one of them did the first move, whose doings turned the sparks flying in between them into the flame burning up in Castiel’s chest when his touch-starved hands gently brush over Dean’s scratchy cheeks and rough hair and down to warm neck and broad shoulders and strong arms and soft sides. The best part of it is that Dean leans into the contact as much as he can, like a cat yearning for affection and someone else’s attention. There’s no way of telling how long it lasts—maybe forever—but when they finally pull back, gasping for air, Dean’s cheeks are burning up with healthy red, eyes shining.

 

“I, uh,” Castiel stutters awkwardly, not knowing what should be a proper reaction now. 

 

To his surprise, Dean grins so widely that little wrinkles appear around his apple-green eyes. “You know how to kiss, Cas,” he says in his usual, cocky manner and all the tension that seemed to heavy on his shoulders just a moment ago is now gone. “But, I, uh… I gotta go back to the gardener’s house. You know, your brother…”

 

Castiel stands up immediately, sliding his hands down his crumpled shirt. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, Dean.”

 

In response, he gets another smirk. “You know, Cas,” Dean says just as he’s about to leave. “Once your dick of a brother is gone… you could pay me a night visit in my room.” He winks and walks out, leaving Castiel with a burning blush covering the tips of his ears.

  
  


At last, when ten days since the arrival have passed, Michael decides to leave the Novak mansion and, together with his wife, go back to their residence in the capital city of the country. As soon as their servant begins to take the luggage down to the vehicle parked at the front of the house, Castiel finds himself to be finally able to breathe with ease. He wishes he could say he loved Michael, and probably some part of him does, but it is in everyone’s best interest for Michael to go back and leave everyone in the North at peace. 

 

Of course, the last few days were incomparably easier for Castiel, knowing that Dean not only doesn’t hate him for the teasing, but also reciprocates the feelings Castiel has developed for him over the months. At twenty-four years old, Castiel has been in love only once and it ended up with a terrible heartbreak, so he wholeheartedly hopes that it won’t be as bad this time. Suddenly, he finds himself hoping that Gabriel’s “experiments” on Sam will work out and they all will be finally free off the oppressive government, able to run away somewhere where people are treated equally. 

 

But they’re not completely safe yet. They have to wait until Michael and Naomi are seated comfortably in their vehicle as they drive out through the gate, and—hopefully—they will never visit the Northern mansion again. Nevertheless, it feels like a lot of weight has been lifted off Castiel’s shoulders that they even eating breakfast with everyone in the room wasn’t even half as stressful as he’s expected it to be. Everything seems to go smoothly, Michael appears to be ready for the leaving without looking back all the way until he’s saying his goodbyes and the thin mist of peace shatters when the eldest Novak speaks up:

 

“Think about my offer,” he tells Gabriel, clearly not worrying about anyone hearing him. He’s looking Gabriel straight in the eyes, the man holding his son tightly in his arms in a very protective manner. Something is clearly wrong here. “I do believe it will be in everyone’s best interest if you said yes, but I’m giving you a month to make up your mind. I expect your answer by the eighth.”

 

Then he leaves with Naomi, like nothing has happened. As soon as Dean and Sam close the gate after him, Gabriel breathes out with clear ease and smiles down at Junior, the toddler holding tightly to his dad. 

 

“Hey, sweetie,” Gabriel hums to his son. “It’s the time to take your dogs out of the room, don’t you think?”

 

Like charmed, Junior immediately brightens up and shifts excitedly in his dad’s grip, clapping his little hands, soft skin thumping against the metal. “Yeah!” the boy exclaims. “Yeah, please! Can Sammy go too? He loves puppies!”

 

Gabriel chuckles as he kisses Junior’s forehead. “Of course he can go with us. How about we all dress up and go on a nice, long walk in the snow, huh? We could build a snowman!”

 

Sam and Dean are already making their way back through the snow, both of them visibly relaxed. Dean picks up some snow, pats it into a ball and throws it at his brother what is met with a surprised yelp and in no time, those two are already throwing snowballs at each other, laughing in the process like children. Junior is squealing with delight, tugging at his dad’s coat to let him go join the play, Gabriel is grinning. Everyone is relieved.

 

Not Castiel.

 

“Gabriel,” he speaks to his brother as Junior runs off to the snow, quickly making his way over to Sam and babbling to the boy about something, not doubt about the dogs. “What was Michael talking about? What deal?”

 

It takes a moment before Gabriel replies, clearly absorbed by looking at Sam grabbing Junior’s hand and slowly walking the boy towards them, no doubt planning on taking the dogs out at last. Then, finally, there is the response:

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Gabriel smiles. “I’m not making any deal with Michael, especially not now. Sammy and I are gonna start working on the chips tonight.” He puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “We’ll be out of this country in no time.”


	15. x v

Two weeks. It takes Gabriel two weeks to go from removing Cain’s mutilated hand to bringing them a new, shining and perfectly functioning one. 

 

As soon as Michael and Naomi left the mansion, Lucifer, Cain and Dean moved back inside, leaving the little gardener’s house outside, standing off alone in the midst of the vast, snowy fields, its crooked and awkward silhouette cutting off from the endless white with black roof and jagged grey walls. Lucifer couldn’t be happier about it, given that the cottage was small, cold and with Dean around there was exactly no privacy—now Lucifer is back in the room he used to occupy back when he was still a teenager and it seems like not many things have changed since then. The bed is still huge and sinfully soft, the armchairs are comfortable and the fireplace is more than big enough to warm up the room all the way from the entrance to the high windows currently covered with heavy curtains. The only downside is that Cain got his own, separate room and so, needless to say, Lucifer doesn’t spend much time in his newly retrieved room. 

 

By now, Gabriel surely must have noticed that the relationship Lucifer shares with Cain is very much not platonic and he’s only giving them two rooms instead of one to force Lucifer into admitting the nature of his relationship out loud which, of course, isn’t going to happen even over his cold dead body. His life is already messed up without Gabriel trying to play his games on him. Besides, with Michael now gone, he doesn’t have to spend all of his time in one place anyway, and instead he’s free to roam the mansion as much as he wants. Which means that he goes to Cain’s room as soon as he’s taken a proper bath and dressed some of Castiel’s too-tight clothes. 

 

An amused “You look nice.” is the first thing Lucifer hears when he steps into Cain’s bedroom, the man sitting in one of the armchairs with a book in his hand. 

 

“Ha-ha,” Lucifer grunts grimly, tugging at his uncomfortably fitting shirt. Castiel might be only an inch shorter but he’s also at least twenty pounds lighter. “Sorry, but as the bad, disowned son I’m not exactly able to show up at tailor’s with a pouch full of marks.”

 

Cain marks the page with a piece of paper and sets the book away before standing up. “I’m not judging you, Luce,” he says softly. “Especially not given that I’m wearing Sam’s clothes and that boy is quite a bit taller than either of us.”

 

“Really? I haven’t noticed,” Lucifer hums teasingly as he leans in to give Cain a quick—or not so quick—kiss and that’s exactly when Gabriel decides to barge in. Taught by experience, Lucifer immediately flinches away with the speed that nearly knocks his glasses off his nose. The look he then sends his younger brother is venomous. “Didn’t I teach you to knock?”

 

“Dear gods, if only memories could be surgically removed,” Gabriel snaps back and waves up an object—a mechanical limb—so the two men can see it clearly. “I came here to fix up your dear friend. Or should I say, your boyfriend?”

 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck off, Gabe. What are you, six?”

 

Gabriel shrugs as he steps in, closing the door behind and gesturing at Cain to sit down on the bed. “What, why?” he carries on with the teasing. “You want to tell me that you two don’t have a thing going on? I might be partially blind, but not  _ that _ blind.”

 

“Surprisingly, I don’t want to tell you anything in this matter since, again, surprisingly, it’s none of your godsdamned business.”

 

“How about I make you a deal?” Gabriel proposes, pointing the prosthetic hand at his older brother. “I will give Cain this wonderful, fully functioning and brand new mechanic limb I spent two weeks building in secret from Michael’s prying eyes, and in return, you’ll finally tell me what your deal is, huh? Don’t make that face, Luci, I know something’s up. You were living down South before you suddenly appeared all the way up here, all the way North—you were clearly already on the move before your sweetheart got sliced.”

 

“Watch your tone,” Lucifer hisses.

 

“Fine,” Cain cuts in, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the implated base at the stump of the mutilated forearm. “I agree to that. But no details.”

 

Gabriel scoffs. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to hear any details anyway,” he chuckles as he pulls out a screwdriver from his pocket. “Alright, keep your arm as still as you can,” he tells Cain as he sits down next to him, positioning the prosthetic against the built-in base. Lucifer stands nearby as he watches Gabriel carefully assemble the mechachinery to Cain’s forearm and tightens some of the screws. “Okay, clench your teeth now,” he advices before he quickly and confidently snaps the fastener. 

 

Cain’s eyes widen as his entire arm jerks, a painful expression distorting his features for a moment. “Dear gods!” the exclaims, grabbing his forearm where the base meets his flesh. “You could have warned me!”

 

“And have you whine? No, thanks,” Gabriel gets up and puts the screwdriver back into his pocket. “It’s just a small electric current,” he explains when he’s met with Lucifer’s questioning look. “You know, to wake up his nerves and jumpstart the whole thing.” He then turns back to Cain. “Your whole arm can feel a bit numb for a day or two but it’ll pass. Can you move your fingers?”

 

“Move my fingers?” Cain looks down at the prosthetic, now properly connected and implantent. He seems to be figuring out how to interpret the new sensation and the retrieved limb until at last, his fingers clench and relax back again a couple of times.  

 

Lucifer’s eyes go wide at the sight as he steps closer to Cain. He’s seen prosthetic limbs before, but never one working nearly as well or moving in such a natural way. It seems that the tales of the brilliant engineer Gabriel Novak are ture. “Wow,” is all Lucifer can get out, his eyes glued to Cain’s new hand as the man moves his wrist around and bends the digits with fascination. They can leave the mansion now—they can flee the country and finally be free, away from this awful place. 

 

“I know, I know, I'm amazing,” Gabriel exclaims nonchalantly as he flops down onto an armchair, letting one of his legs hang from the armrest. “Now that the cripple problem is out of the way, it’s storytime. You owe me, brother dearest.”

 

The thought of being in debt alone makes Lucifer’s guts twist and clench. He hates being dependent on someone, and despite accepting his emotional attachment to Cain, he still doesn’t like how Gabriel is approaching this situation, acting like he’s all mighty and powerful. In some ways, it’s a behaviour very characteristic for Michael. 

 

Slowly, Lucifer sits down beside Cain, hand twitching to reach for Cain’s. “We’re engaged,” he states briefly, his left thumb stroking over the uneven surface of his ring. “We want to get married. That’s all.”

 

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead so high that for a short moment, Lucifer fears that they would meet the hairline and get lost  there forever. “Excuse me?” Gabriel asks as he sits up straight in the armchair, his leg meeting the floor. “You two are serious?”

 

“Very serious,” Cain assures him, the cool metal of his prosthetic brushing over Lucifer’s warm skin. “We’ve been together for years and we really tried to make do, to get the best of our situation, but this is simply no place to live for people like us. We’re both tired of hushing behind closed curtains and living in slums full of orphans, whores and cutthroats. Life is different in the West, and if we only could cross the border…”

 

“I still have some money deposited,” Lucifer adds. “You know, from before Michael kicked me out. It’s about enough to buy some tickets and maybe a poorly made fake ID. Cain’s records are destroyed and as far as the government knows, he’s dead. But, I might be dead to Michael, but I’m not to the ones upstairs, so…” He sighs. “I thought they’ve forgotten about me, I was disowned for nearly half of my life! But no, as soon as we grabbed our stuff and left the flat we were renting…”

 

Cain cuts in. “To cut to the chase, we were followed,” he explains. “My hand got severed by a set of automatic doors and as soon as that happened, Lucifer demanded we’d come here. You know all the rest.”

 

One, two, three, four, five and… “Aww, Luci!” Gabriel says, theatrically pressing a hand against his chest, mocking grin widening. “ _ That _ is something I would  _ never _ expect from you! You’re  _ so _ in love!”

 

He can see that Cain is smiling that sappy smile again with the corner of his eye, but all Lucifer can do about that is scoff, even though the tips of his ears burn furiously. “Well, yeah, seems like we’ve both got a taste in servants,” he spits out. “That’s it, end of the story. Don’t worry, Gabe, now that you’ve patch up Cain, we’ll be out of here in no time and we will probably never see each other again.”

 

“No.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said no.” Gabriel stands up and walks over to the window, looking out at the vast snowy plains of his property. “That’s not correct. You see, we’re leaving as well. All of us: Cas, and Junior and I, even the Winchester brothers.” He spins around to look at Lucifer, his eyes shining with a golden fire, just like their mother’s used to. “You asked me why I bought servants and, brother mine, I bought them because I want to find a way to cut the chips out. If I can do that, there’s no more teasing, no more tracking and we can all leave the country without Michael knowing our every step. I already contacted Balthazar, he’s going to help us with settling down in the West.”

 

“Is that so?” Lucifer can’t help but grin at what his brother is saying, at the mere stupidity of this plan. “And how are you going to do that? Are you doing to risk the lives of your precious Winchesters? Even given that you will, magically, take the chips out, you’re still going to need so, so many things to-”

 

Gabriel quickly cuts him off. “I owe Crowley a favour. He’s going to help.”

 

Lucifer immediately stands up, stepping closer to his brother. “You what?” he asks, a hysteric chuckle appearing somewhere at the back of his throat. “You… you  _ fucking idiot _ . You made a deal with Crowley?”

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Gabriel throws his arms in the air. “What matters is that I have a solid plan to leave this hellhole and give my boy and my little brother, and fucking  _ myself  _ a normal life! I can finally solve all of my problems and you’re the last person to ever judge me! I, my family, we can all have lives where I can sleep during the night, our little brother can marry whoever the fuck he wants and there’s no doom lingering on my son’s fate. I’m doing this, Lucifer, should it be with or without you, but I’m doing this.”

 

“Me?” Lucifer repeats, hands up in a defensive manner. “The fuck I got to do with it?”

 

“Well…” Gabriel’s gaze flickers over to Cain. “Not exactly you…”

 

Cain rises up as well. “What do you want?” he asks in a very straight-forward manner. “What should I do?”

 

A spark of satisfaction lits up Gabriel's face at that. “Your chip is destroyed,” he explains. “And, well, you’re still alive and kickin’. If I… if I could cut it out, to see how it used to work or what exactly happened that it didn’t kill you right away, then I would have an opportunity to see how it works. I could crack it and get rid of all of the remaining three and we’d be pretty much free to get the hell out of here.”

 

“Three?” Cain’s eyebrows scrunch before there’s the painful realization. “Oh. Oh, Gods. Is your son…?”

 

Gabriel nods. “Yeah. He’s a bastard, I had him with a servant. He’s chipped. I can’t leave the country while he still has the chip.”

 

“I understand,” Cain runs a hand through his graying hair. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

 

Lucifer waves his hands. “Uhm, hello? I’m still here? Don’t you think we should maybe talk about your possibly-suicidal plan to let my little brother cut into your neck since, I don’t know, we were kinda on our way to get married?”

 

Cain gives Lucifer a soft gaze. “It’s going to be fine,” he promises in this calming way of his. “The chip is destroyed and, trust me, I’d gladly get this thing off of me,” he says as he tugs at the collar still clasped around his neck. “So, I agree. You’re more than welcome to get that piece of metal out of me, Gabriel.”

 

“One wrong move,” Lucifer warns, “and I’m going to personally kill you.”

 

“Ah,” Gabriel just smiles. “Almost feels like we’re kids again. Now,” he claps, “time to get to work.”


	16. x v i

Just as promised, Cain allowed Gabriel to extract the the destroyed chip from his neck the very same day. It certainly wasn't a pleasant experience for the man, especially without any anaesthesia other than some of Gabriel's numbing gel, but he took it bravely, barely flinching at the sting of scalpel cutting through his skin and unfolding it far enough for one to be able to see the manner in which the chip was implanted. Sam, as well as Lucifer, were present in the workshop at the time, the Winchester boy taking meticulous notes and making detailed sketches of what he saw on Cain's neck. The little device was shattered and Gabriel had to take some time to pluck of the shards that ended up stabbing some of Cain's muscles, but the whole procedure went on quite smoothly and without disruptions. 

 

After Cain and Lucifer left, happy to have that devilish device out, Sam and Gabriel wasted no time to begin thoroughly analysing the notes and sketches, as well as comparing them to the knowledge they already had, including Sam's first-hand experience of being teased by the chip. What they find out rather sooner than later, strikes Gabriel absolutely fascinating, yet somehow terrifying at the same time. It seems as if the collar and the chip aren't connected in any way and the chip resonates some sort of a signal that causes the reaction of the collar. 

 

It's not the kind of technology Gabriel has ever seen, and he makes sure to always read the news when something is invented or improved. He would surely hear of this system, it would completely revolutionize many industries! Oh, the prosthetics he could make with this technology! But if Gabriel, one of the best known prosthetic engineers in the whole country, didn't hear of this, it can only mean that the government is hiding it from the public. Simply being aware of it could put Gabriel and his family at a great risk.

 

The longer they analyze everything they’ve come up with so far, the more tired Gabriel grows. Castiel and Dean are supposed to take care of Junior today, but that certainly won’t free Gabriel from reading the toddler a goodnight story. As much as he loves how much the little boy is attached to him, sometimes he would like to have an entire evening just to himself, without having to spend at least an hour squeezed between two dogs, reading the same story for the hundredth time. But, well, that is the price of having a child and Gabriel gladly pays it. 

 

“I don't understand it,” Sam finally sighs, after hours of sitting over the notes and the remains of broken chip. They are already on cup of coffee number three, the boy's hair pulled up into a small bun. “If it's some new wireless technology, then why does the chip get triggered if anything around it is disrupted?” 

 

“Probably because of this whole wireless thing,” Gabriel grunts, burying his face in his hands. “I don't even know where we should start, this is nothing like I've ever seen before,” he continues. “For all I know, Cain should be dead, his collar should be set off, but… even given that possibly,  _ possibly _ , a bullet could deactivate this whole system, I can't do that to Junior! Hes fragile.” 

 

Sam sighs, putting his pen down in the table and tugging at his uncomfortably tight collar slightly. “I know, I know. I'm trying to figure out if there's another way, but… I don't know, Gabe, I think our only option here is to slice some of my skin off and mess around until we find a solution.” 

 

“No!” Gabriel looks up. “Absolutely not! I'm not going to risk your life anymore than I already have to!” He fumbles through the notes and pulls more sketches out. “This is already dangerous.” 

 

The next time Sam speaks, his voice is soft. “Gabe,” he mutters, reaching out to take Gabriel's hand into his own. “I know the risks and I'm fine with them. Come on, we have to find a solution, and…” he slowly exhales. “You bought me for a reason. I'm young, I'm strong, I can take it. Besides… I don't really think we have a choice here. Not if we want to get out this place.”

 

Gabriel squeezes Sam's hand tightly. “I'm just worried, Sammy. Can you blame me?” 

 

“Of course not.” Sam gives Gabriel a smile, his beautiful hazel eyes shining slightly in the harsh lights of the workshop. “But we have to be realistic here. Especially after your brother has been here, and, and the deal he gave you. I just think it would be in our best interest if we…” 

 

The door to the workshop swings open rapidly, smashing against one of the walls. Gabriel and Sam jump up in their seats, eyes immediately wandering to the person who's just stormed into the workshop. 

 

“What the fuck?!” Dean's cheeks are flushed up red, his eyebrows drawn together  fists clenched. “What the fuck?!” He repeats, grabbing Gabriel by the collar of his shirt and dragging him off the chair, pushing him against the wall as if the man weighs nothing.

 

“Dean!” Sam exclaims with terror, already up on his feet. “What the Hells are you doing?!” 

 

“Don't even try, Sammy!” Dean growls as he presses Gabriel tightly, fingers dangerously close the man's neck. “You're a sick bastard, you know that?! You think I wouldn't find out?! Huh?! That what you thought?!” 

 

Gabriel scoffs. “Nah, man, I just thought you wouldn't be too dumb to understand what all of this even means.” 

 

This sentence earns Gabriel a harsh blow to his face, his head jumping to the side when Dean's fist crashes into it, his lip breaking under the impact. “Don't fuck around!” the Winchester yells.

 

“Dean!” Sam pushes out as he grabs his brother from behind, trying to drag him away from Gabriel. “Stop it! This is not like you think! He just wants to help!” 

 

“Help?!” Dean shrugs Sam's hand off his shoulders, but his hands leave Gabriel's shirt nevertheless. “Help?! Man, you're really naive if you think this is what it's all about! He's a madman! Haven't you seen what he's done to Cain?! He wants you to be his guinea pig!” 

 

Sam's eyes widen with disbelief. “What he's done to Cain?! He's saved the man's damn life! Built him a prosthetic and kept him safe while Michael was here! He kept us all safe! What's wrong with you, Dean?!” 

 

Dean lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. “With me?! You're the one who's gonna let this freak cut you up! I don't care if you've got some goddamn crush, I'm not gonna let you become one of his sick experiments! You!” He looks at Gabriel again, fire burning in his green eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn't find out?! Did you really think you could keep this from me?! Cain and Lucifer told me everything!” 

 

With a risky roll of his eyes, Gabriel wipes the blood from his busted lip and squares his shoulders, chin high up. Dean clearly has the physical advantage over him, but Gabriel isn't scared, not in the slightest. “And what is it exactly that they've told you, huh?” He asks boldly. “That we all want to leave this piss-poor country and find a better life? That I want to set you two free? That I'm going to make a change?” 

 

“I don't care what you've got going on in this sick head of yours, but you're not risking my little brother's life! There's no escape from this!” He points at the collar around his neck. “We've been sold, man, and nothing can change it.  _ Especially _ not you!”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Gabriel wants to know, something theartning lurking at the edge of the last syllable. 

 

“Please,” Dean spits. “I’ve met lots of people and I sure as hell know the ones like you.” He grimaces. “Rich guys, sipping on their expensive whiskey and smoking foreign cigars, thinking that they can do anything with some money here and some more charm there, ‘specially when it comes to young boys.”

 

Gabriel breaks. He just can’t handle it, the tension of the past days combined with the stress of looking for solution, it all just makes him break into borderline maniacal laughter at Dean’s words.  _ Good Gods _ , this boy is so, so stupid and his world is so, so small if he thinks that this all is simply about satisfying Gabriel’s unhealthy curiosity and, as Dean rightfully pointed out, hedonistic liking in young boys. This is exactly why Michael didn’t suspect anything, this is why he left believing that Gabriel would agree to his deal. Dean and Michael are exactly the same—they see nothing but their narrow, tiny picture. 

 

“Oh, you fucking idiot!” Gabriel wheezes, wiping the tears rolling down his cheeks. “You dumb boy! Who, the hell do you think, you’re talking to?” He looks at Dean with a grin stretching his lips. “I am a Novak, kid, I belong to one of the most influential families in the entire godsdamned country! If this was about wanting to fuck, or to experiment on the collars, this place would be crawling with hookers and reeking of death!” His head falls back as he takes a deep breath. “Now you better listen to me because I’m not going to repeat myself. If you ever,  _ ever _ talk to me like that again, I will make damn sure to slow-cook your brain.”

 

Both of the Winchesters stare at him in horror while the clock on the wall ticks away the prolonged seconds, each one dragging into an eternity. 

 

“You’re a fucking maniac,” Dean finally breathes out as he takes a step back, shielding Sam with his own body. “You’re completely insane.”

 

“I prefer the term ‘eccentric’. But if by ‘insane’ you mean, ‘willing to do a lot to be able to damn this whole country and live freely after twenty-eight years of hell’ then, yeah, I guess I’m pretty insane.” Gabriel sits back down on the stool at his work table as if his unexpected outburst never took place. “Now if you excuse me, your more competent brother and I were just about to find out how in the Hells we’d be able to take yours, his and Junior’s chips out, so please close the door on your way out.” 

 

“What?” Dean asks instead of leaving as he was asked to do. “What the Hells are you talking about? Why’s your son chipped?”

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

It seems that in the heat of the moment, Gabriel spilled even more beans of his past, and now he suddenly feels obliged to explain the Winchesters everything. After all, he’s never really told Sam what’s happened to Junior’s mother, who she was or why she’s nowhere to be found, and if there’s one person who deserves the truth—it’s Sam.

 

Gabriel sighs deeply. “Because, if you haven’t figured that out from Michael’s lovely attitude by now, Junior is a bastard. I’ve had him with a servant.”

 

“Did you…?”

 

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, I swear to all twelve of the Gods, I’m going to kick you out and let you freeze!” Gabriel growls at Dean. “No, of course not! We… ugh.” He rubs his eyes at the wave of painful memories flooding his mind, memories of the better times, from before he was stigmatized and his life fell into an even bigger ruin. “I loved her,” he finally states. “Her name was Kali. Michael… he got her for me as a birthday gift after I’ve opened my workshop. He knew I disapproved of the whole servant idea. I think he only brought her to me to piss me off, but… She was amazing.” It hurts to speak, it hurts so, so badly. Even after four years, whenever he touches on the topic, the wound feels fresh. 

 

Sam sits back on his spot at the workshop, but he doesn’t dare to reach out to touch Gabriel’s hand, or offer him comfort in any other way. “What’s happened to her?” he asks softly. It must cost him a lot to ask this question, Gabriel thinks. Given what they’ve had going on between them.

 

“Michael had her executed,” Gabriel admits bitterly. “After he found out that she’s had a child with me. Junior was three months old at the time.” His eyes sting with unshed tears. “Having children outside of the wedlock is only frowned upon as long as it’s between two noblemen, or even a nobleman and a commoner. But not a servant. That’s punishable. So… Michael had Kali executed and Junior mutilated, to teach me a lesson that you can’t win with the government.” He scoffs. “Well, it’s going to be even more pleasant for me to prove the bitch wrong.”

 

Both of the Winchesters remain quiet for an uncomfortably long moment, each second stretching out into what feels like forever. They feel sorry for him. They feel sorry for him and Gabriel hates it. He doesn’t want nor does he need anyone’s pity. Whatever has ever happened to him, he only grew stronger from it and he kept going on, alone, without anyone’s help. He doesn’t need  _ anyone _ to feel sorry for him.

 

“Just… use me, man,” Dean finally breaks the silence.

 

Gabriel looks up at him, head cocked. “Excuse me, what?”

 

Dean sits next to Sam. “You want out, I get it. I want out, too

I don’t wanna spend the rest of my days in this shithole country. If you’re saying…” he stops for a brief moment to take a deep breath. “If you’re saying that you can do you magic and get those damned chips out of us, I’m all for it, alright? But not on Sam. Try on me instead.”

 

“No!” Sam immediately exclaims, shaking his head so much that a few strands of his hair falls out of the bun. “Absolutely not! I already agreed, I…!”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Sammy!” Dean stops him, his face stern. The fierceness from before is completely gone from his features, now only cold determination shining there. “I’m not letting you do this, alright? As long as I’m here, I’m not letting you take the risk!”

 

Sam looks nearly offended. “Gabriel picked me!” he reminds. “I’m taller and heavier than you, my body can take more than…!”

 

“You’re a kid!” Dean exclaims. “For fuck’s sake, Sammy, you’re eighteen! You’re still a kid and you are  _ not _ putting yourself in a life-threatening situation! We both know that if I say I’m not gonna let you, then I’m not gonna let you! So either Gabriel does this whole experimenting shit on me, or we’re all gonna rot in this godsforsaken country till the day we die!”

 

It hasn’t occurred to him before, but now Gabriel can see that he and Dean might have more in common that he has previously thought. “Okay.”

 

“Gabriel!” Sam puts both of his hands on the workbench, slightly rising up in this seat. “You can’t do that!”

 

“I can. And I’m going to. Dean is right. You’re a kid, Sammy, I don’t want to endanger you either. If Dean says he’s willing to, I don’t see why not. Besides, if something goes wrong, out of the two of you, I like Dean much less. But I have one condition.”

 

Dean straightens his back. “And that is?”

 

“What’s going on between you and Cassie?”


End file.
